


California Boys

by aworldoflis



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, surfer!Sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aworldoflis/pseuds/aworldoflis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Kurt's acting career refusing to take off in New York he reluctantly changes Broadway for Hollywood. And while he's not sure what he expected to find, spending every weekend in a local surf bar was not exactly on the list of possibilities. Actually enjoying it definitely wasn't. But sometimes love will be found where you least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, last year I decided to partake in the Kurtbastian Big Bang... and promptly missed every single deadline they set out. But the story was still there, and I'm finally finding the time to finish it. So here, as a teaser for you and a motivation for me, have the prologue to what will be a 10-chapter Kurtbastian story for your hiatus needs (Sebastian's not actually in here yet though, apologies for that. but I mean. it's a prologue). If everything goes according to plan, I'll publish a chapter every week on Tuesdays (I have about 80% written, so it *should* be a fairly smooth ride :) ).
> 
> But let me bore you no longer. Read ahead, and hopefully enjoy!

“Thank you, mister...” A short pause, and a faint rustling of pages. “... Hummel. That’s all we needed from you.” 

Kurt’s mouth is still wide open, frozen at the syllable he was at when they interrupted him, and as soon as he realizes he’s actually gaping he snaps it shut. 

“Thank _you_ ,” he says in a clipped voice, forcing a smile and a small bow before he turns to leave the stage. He doesn’t add his usual ‘I hope to hear from you soon’, because he knows he won’t. There’s no specific reason as to _why_ he is so sure about that, except maybe for the fact that he hasn’t had a single callback in three months. His last paid acting job had been a mute role in a closed run of an experimental play, a modern take on _Everyman_ Kurt didn’t care much about and which had been cut short when eight days after the premiere a fire had destroyed the theatre and, it appeared, Kurt’s fledgling career along with it.

He pushes the thought from his mind. There’s no use lingering on lost opportunities and missed chances, and so he quickly packs his things together and heads for the exit. He barely even stops to curse when he sees it's raining, simply hauls his backpack over his head and runs out into the storm.

It seems today is just gonna be one of those days...

.

He heads straight home, and it’s a small mercy that Rachel isn’t there when he enters the apartment. He loves his flatmate, he really does, but the longer he goes without a real job -the time he continues to waste at the Spotlight Diner doesn’t count- the harder it gets to just smile and nod when she comes home with yet another story about some famous director she had lunch with, or a world-renowned choreographer she gets to work with, or her ridiculously perfect boyfriend Beau who is French and sends her flowers at work and takes her out for romantic picnics in Central Park, neither of which any of _his_ ex-boyfriends ever did for _him_.

He knows he shouldn’t be jealous. Rachel worked hard to get where she is now, still does, and it’s not like she hasn’t tried to use her own connections to help him - see also the mute role in the experimental play.But Kurt works his ass off too and... it just isn’t enough. No matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, it seems like there simply isn’t any room for someone like him on -or off- Broadway. And no matter how many times he swore to himself he would never give up on his dreams, even Kurt Hummel has a limit to the number of ‘no’s he can take before he starts doubting himself.

The past few months of rejection and disappointment have one advantage however: at least this time he’s prepared. There’s cheesecake in the fridge and his favorite pjs are fresh in the dryer, and he’s got every America’s Next Top Model episode ever made downloaded onto his laptop. But just when he's gotten comfortable in the couch, laptop on his knees, ready for a night of wallowing and self-pity, a Skype notification pops up in the top right corner of his screen.

**Mercedes Jones  
** omg do u know what that jerk did? that useless bag of bones that calls himself my flatmate? DO U?  
HE BOUGHT A TICKET TO HAWAII

| 

  
10:36  
  
10:36  
  
---|---  
  
Kurt sighs. He’s no mood to deal with Mercedes’ flatmate’s antics, but he can hardly claim he’s got better things to do.

**Kurt Hummel  
** So you’re gonna have the house to yourself for a few days. The problem being... ?

| 

  
10:37  
  
---|---  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** the problem being that HE DOESNT HAVE A RETURN TICKET

| 

  
10:37  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** Ok - then you’ll have the house to yourself for a couple of weeks.  
The problem being?

| 

  
10:38  
10:39  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
no kurt u dont understand  
he met a girl. shes from hawaii. he bought a ticket to hawaii to be with her. he doesnt have the money to buy a return ticket.  
HES NOT PLANNING ON COMING BACK

| 

  
10:40  
10:40  
  
10:41  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** oh

| 

  
10:43  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
yes  
oh  
how the hell am I supposed to pay this rent on my own Kurt? just HOW?

| 

  
10:43  
10:43  
10:44  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** Look, ‘Cedes, I sympathize, I really do, but what do you expect *me* to do about it? I’m *literally* on the other side of the country.  
Besides, you live in LA, people are always looking for rooms. Just put up an ad somewhere, you’ll find another housemate soon enough.

| 

  
10:46  
  
10:49  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
and end up with some creepy serial killer guy who watches me sleep? thanks but no thanks  
u know, sometimes I just wish we still lived in the same city  
u and me and Rachel  
we could like find an apartment together and I’d never have to worry about u stealing my food or barging into the bathroom when I’m taking a shower  
we could make all the popcorn we want and have ANT marathons  
remember how we used to do that?

| 

  
10:50  
10:55  
10:56  
10:58  
  
10:59  
10:59  
  
Kurt smiles. He does remember.

**Kurt Hummel  
** We had pajama parties every week :)  
Living the dream.

| 

  
11:01  
11:01  
  
---|---  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
yeah…  
and now look at us  
u and rachel still in new york making ur way onto broadway and me... well me in la back to doing background vocals for the next katy perry lookalike :D

| 

  
11:01  
11:02  
11:04  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** Not to burst your bubble but I’m not so much ‘making my way onto Broadway’ as I am ‘stumbling through auditions in between making a living as a singing waiter’.

| 

  
11:05  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** oh honey im sure its not that bad

| 

  
11:05  
  
**Kurt Hummel**  
Remember my last callback, ‘Cedes?  
Yeah, neither do I.  
I graduated top of my class and I can’t even get a freaking callback, how pathetic is that?

| 

  
11:06  
11:11  
11:11  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
its not *pathetic*  
seriously u just havent been at the right place at the right time yet, thats all, ull get your break soon enough ull see  
have you talked to ur agent about it?

| 

  
11:12  
11:13  
  
11:13  
  
**Kurt Hummel**  
She says I should consider going for tv. Says because I’m a ‘subtle actor’ I’m more suited for tv than for theatre. Gave me the names of a couple of ‘specialized’ agents too.  
*eyeroll*  
If you ask me she’s just trying to get rid of the goose that was only ever rumored to lay golden eggs.

| 

  
11:15   
  
11:15  
11:16  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** but kurt thats perfect!

| 

  
11:17  
  
Kurt huffs. As far as he’s concerned it’s anything _but_ perfect - he’s been dreaming of Broadway all his life and now people are telling him he should just stick to sitcoms? But Mercedes is already typing on.

**Mercedes Jones**  
you should come here and try your luck in Hollywood!  
you know how many people go to the theatre? like, ten. you know how many people got to the movies? MILLIONS  
seriously, all you need is one role and then once people get to know your face and YOUR VOICE they’ll be *begging* to have you. and then if you’d still want to you can always go back to Broadway  
AND meanwhile you can move in with me and solve my flatmate problem! ;)

| 

  
11:17  
11:18  
  
11:20  
  
  
11:21  
  
---|---  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** :D  
You’re insane.

| 

  
11:22  
11:22  
  
**Mercedes Jones**  
why??? seriously though think about it, I mean, a change in scenery would do you good. all these auditions are seriously starting to weigh on you, I can tell  
and you cant do a good audition if you’re stressed  
and id get a flatmate I can actually *stand* for once  
everybody wins!

| 

  
11:23  
  
11:24  
11:24  
11:24  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** ‘Cedes, you know I can’t do that.

| 

  
11:24  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** and why not?? whats keeping you in new york?

| 

  
11:25  
  
**Kurt Hummel**  
Uhm, first of all: if I leave *Rachel* will have to find a new flatmate and that's just a train wreck waiting to happen.  
Second of all: I have auditions to go to.  
Third of all: I have my job here, my friends, ...

| 

  
11:26  
  
11:26  
11:26  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** rachel will find a new flatmate easy enough (its *new york*), theres plenty of auditions here as well, you hate your job, and when was the last time you went out to meet any of those so-called friends?

| 

  
11:28  
  
Kurt just stares at the screen. In all honesty he knows Mercedes is right: Rachel would have no trouble finding a new flatmate - hell, she’d probably jump at the opportunity and move in with Beau. He really does hate his job and as for his friends...

**Mercedes Jones  
** kurt?

| 

  
11:35  
  
---|---  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** ‘Cedes I can’t just up and *leave* like that.

| 

  
11:36  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** of course you can, you did it when you first moved to new york didnt you? didnt have a job or even a place to stay and you still went

| 

  
11:38  
  
**Kurt Hummel  
** It’s not the same thing. New York was my DREAM.

| 

  
11:38  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** i know, boo, i know  
but maybe it’s time for a new dream?

| 

  
11:39  
11:39  
  
Kurt grimaces. It’s not that easy. He’s been dreaming of New York since he knew what it meant, has been fantasizing about being on Broadway ever since he first heard his mom humming along to her Funny Girl record. He can’t give up that dream just because it’s hard to achieve. Because it’s _supposed_ to be hard, isn’t it? He’s _supposed_ to suffer and doubt himself and come out stronger in the end. He’s _not_ supposed to take the easy way out and take advice from some ignorant, self-absorbed agent when he _knows_ he was born to shine on a Broadway stage.

The click of the door and Rachel’s overly cheerful _Helloooooooooooo!_ pull him out of his reverie, and he turns his attention back to the screen in front of him.

**Kurt Hummel  
** Listen, I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later, okay?  
And good luck finding that flatmate ;)

| 

  
11:41  
11:42  
  
---|---  
  
**Mercedes Jones  
** very funny :p  
ttyl

| 

  
11:42  
11:43  
  
  

Kurt closes his laptop, turning around to Rachel who’s just entered their living room, her hair dripping wet but with the biggest, broadest smile on her face.

“Kurt, oh Kurt, you’ll never believe what just happened!”

She’s _skipping_ , making her way over to Kurt and sitting down next to him, still with that dopey, insanely happy grin on her face, and Kurt can’t help but smile along with her, it’s infectious.

“So, you know I was out with Beau, right,” she starts, taking Kurt’s hand and almost crushing it in her obvious excitement. “And he took me to that place on 5th, you know, where they have those amazing brunches? And he... oh my god I still can’t believe he did that!” She’s squealing, fanning her free hand as if to calm herself down. “Kurt, he... he asked me to move in with him!”

She throws her arms around Kurt, nearly pushing him over with the force of her hug, and for a few seconds Kurt can’t do anything but let it happen. Rachel’s moving out?

“And I know! I know what you’re gonna say: it’s too soon, but his roommate got a new job in Atlanta and it’s just _perfect,_ right?” She pulls back, eyes sparkling, and Kurt still can’t find anything to say. Fortunately, Rachel does. “It’s all so _exciting_ , don’t you think? You should’ve been there, though, Kurt, oh God, it was _so_ romantic, for a second I thought he was gonna propose! _Obviously_ I would not have accepted that, it is _much_ too soon, but-” 

She continues babbling, about how he shouldn’t worry because she’ll help him find a new flatmate and it will all work out. And who knew? Maybe his flatmate-to-be would be really handsome and really gay and they’d hit it off and get married and have twins, and Kurt can’t do anything but plaster a smile on his face and nod and assure Rachel that no, he doesn’t mind and yes, he’s so so happy for her.

But later that night, when she’s finally stopped squealing long enough for him to be able to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, he doesn't hesitate when he takes out his phone.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at the official beginning of this fic, there's an important disclaimer to be made. There's no easy way of saying this, so I'm just gonna come right out with it: I know nothing about surfing. I seriously don't. Which is... less than ideal when your main character is an avid surfer, but there you have it. I tried to do my research but I'm bound to make mistakes, so if you actually surf and you see something that's REALLY off... please tell me? And if you're like me and know nothing about surfing, just enjoy and please don't use this fic as a trustworthy source :D.
> 
> I'd also like to take a moment to thank a couple of people. Both [Jimmy](http://stjimmyjazz.tumblr.com/) and [Orangegirl22](http://orangegirl22.tumblr.com/) have helped me a lot to get some grip on how auditions/agents/acting works, which may not feature that heavily but is still quite important to the plot (spoilers!). Shoutout to [Sleevedhearts](http://sleevedhearts.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on and assuring me that yes, the story was worth a read, a massive thank you to [Sophie](http://all0fthedrugs.tumblr.com/) for her excellent beta-work and to-the-point comments and suggestions, and finally all of the above for [Lucie](http://theonelucille.tumblr.com/), who you all have to thank for this story even seeing the light of day (seriously). Also, Kurt's clothes. So go give them some love, but first, meet Sebastian!

Once the decision has been made, things move fast. Kurt still has two auditions planned -one open call for an off-Broadway run of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and another one his agent had set up for him- but once those are done he books the cheapest flight to LA he can find and starts packing, trying not to think too much about what he’s doing. Because Mercedes is right: he does need a break, and he's never had less to lose. Even if this turns out to be a huge mistake it will -hopefully- only help him to be even more motivated to return to his Broadway dreams. After all, New York won’t be going anywhere in his absence.

When he finally sets foot in LA it's a sunny Friday morning, and Kurt doesn't even care how big of a cliché it is: he feels like the city welcomes him. The feeling only gets better when his bag is the first to come out on the belt, and when Mercedes nearly runs him over, squealing about how happy she is he's there, there is not a trace of doubt in his mind when he tells her, with the biggest, broadest grin on his face: "Me too."

"Here, give me that bag," she orders, already directing him towards the exit. "My car's just outside. I was thinking we could go by the apartment first, I'm guessing you'll want to take a shower?"

"Oh god yes!" Kurt groans, and Mercedes laughs. 

"I thought so. So - apartment, shower, and then we can get going!"

She winks in that way that tells Kurt she's planning something, and he sighs.

"Please tell me you're not taking me on one of those tourist sightseeing busses?" 

"Of course not!" Mercedes says, visibly insulted, but then links her arm together with Kurt's, leaning in a little closer. "I've got something _much_ better."

"Is it gonna take long?" Kurt asks, his suspicion only growing. "Not that I don't appreciate anything you've planned, but I kind of have a busy schedule ahead. I got to find a new agent, figure out how auditions work around here, figure out my SAG membership – I heard it shouldn't be a problem because I'm Equity, but I haven't paid off my fees yet so I don't actually know? I gotta find a job too, I used nearly all my savings to pay for the flight. And unpack, of course, I need to unpack. Oh god, I _hate_ unpacking. I sent a couple things ahead, they haven't arrived yet have they?"

"No, they have not," Mercedes tells him with a pat on his arm. "And to answer your other questions: I have no idea. Anyway you can worry about guilds and unions later. Right now you and I are going on a little getaway."

"You're- Mercedes! I can't go on a getaway, I've got a career to start up!"

"Tut-tut-tut. Your career can wait until Monday."

Kurt glares at her.

"No, it can't."

"Yes, it can." Mercedes sighs, stopping them for a moment as she turns to look at Kurt. "Look, Kurt. I know you're here to try your luck in Hollywood, because you hope LA will give you better chances than New York did. But you're also here because you need a break. These last couple of months you've been stressing yourself out constantly – looking for auditions, getting auditions, practicing for auditions. Now Rachel might have let you get away with that, even encouraged you in it, but I'm not Rachel and I'm not gonna let you kill yourself over this. So here's what gonna happen. We're gonna go to our apartment, you're gonna take a shower, and then you're gonna pack a bag for two nights. Sam's having a goodbye party-"

"Wait, Sam?" Kurt interrupts, not sure if he heard right. "Sam Evans? Sam is in LA?"

"Actually he's in some little village near the coast about an hour's drive from here, he works there in some kind of surf bar or shop or whatever," Mercedes says impatiently. "I don't know, I don't actually see him that often but the point is, he's going to Australia for a year and he's having a goodbye party tomorrow. So, I booked us a room in a small B&B, and we're gonna go there and have ourselves a fun, relaxing beach outing. And then come Monday you can work on your career all you like, promise."

Kurt sighs.

"You're not gonna let me get out of this are you?"

"Nope," Mercedes says brightly, and despite himself Kurt finds himself smiling. After all, a few days relaxing at the beach does sound terribly tempting.

"All right," he gives in, and Mercedes whoops. "But I get to choose the music and you're helping me unpack when we get back."

"Deal," Mercedes beams. "Now come on, let's go. Ooh, this is gonna be so much fun!"

.

Once Kurt has agreed to put his fate for the weekend in Mercedes' hands, things go a lot smoother. He and Mercedes talk non-stop, exchanging celebrity and other gossip throughout the ride home, the shower, the overnight bag packing, and the trip to the hotel. It's a small B&B and even if they don't have an ocean view -they're both still struggling artists, after all- their beds are the softest Kurt has slept in for years, which makes up for a lot.

They still have time to go for a walk before they have dinner, and with every step they take Kurt can feel the stress and worry of the past couple of months oozing away. He's not sure whether it's the salt in the air or Mercedes' company, but less than three hours into his first holiday in years he's already swearing expensive oaths to never go this long without a holiday ever again. The delicious grilled trout with garlic they are served in a tiny restaurant just two blocks away from the hotel definitely helps strengthen that resolve, as does the fact that he's fast asleep before the clock even strikes eleven.

The following morning Kurt wakes up before the sun has even risen -courtesy of his jet lag, no doubt- and he carefully slips out of bed so as to not wake Mercedes up. He plays around on his phone for a while, replying to his dad and Rachel’s worried inquiries as to his well-being he hadn’t felt like answering the night before, before he decides to head out for a run. Breakfast isn’t for another hour, and if there’s one thing he’s learned at NYADA it’s that holidays or no holidays, an actor should always - _always_ \- be in perfect shape. And so he quickly, quietly, takes out his running clothes and puts on his running shoes, and sets out into the early morning.

It’s already warm out. Not hot, and certainly not sweltering like it had been the day before - not yet, at least, because the air simmers, vibrating with the promise of another bright and summery Californian day. The air is different here than it is in New York, and Kurt closes his eyes for a moment as he takes a deep breath. There’s a sort of spiciness in the air that’s unfamiliar to him, a body and a scent that is profoundly different from what he’s used to, and he can’t quite decide whether he likes it or not. He knows he’s supposed to embrace this -the palm trees waving softly in the soft morning breeze, the empty beach stretching out as far as he can see- and he did yesterday. Right now, however, it only makes him miss home more. Because he _likes_ the buildings and the skyscrapers of New York, grey and bland and unforgiving as they are, _likes_ the constant rumble of traffic and the smell of hotdogs that greets him every time he leaves his building. No matter how many times it has disappointed him, New York is still _his_ city, and he knows that he’ll always return there. It’s a strangely comforting thought, and he finishes his stretching routine with a smile on his face.

There aren’t too many people out yet, with the exception of a few other joggers and a couple of surfers. Locals, Kurt guesses, who are enjoying their tourist-free beach for as long as it lasts before they have to leave for their respective jobs. Right in front of him there’s a small group of three surfers out on the water, and he chuckles when one of them overbalances and falls butt-first in the water. The laughter of the two others, a guy and a girl, reaches him over the soft rumble of the ocean, and he smiles when the guy takes the next wave, making a show of repeating the first girl’s move and finishing it smoothly. Kurt has never cared much for surfing -he prefers his hair salt-free, thank you very much-, but the way the guy’s body moves, his black-and-blue wetsuit clinging to his body and drawing attention to all the right places, makes it look… _graceful_ , almost, and for just a second Kurt considers to interrupt his run and just watch for a little.

He doesn’t, continuing for another twenty minutes or so before he turns back. Running along the beach certainly beats running in a gym, he can admit that much, even if it is incredibly more tiring. But he enjoys the way the sand sinks a little each time his feet hit the ground, forcing him to focus on the way he rolls his feet, and by the time he makes it back to the pier where he started almost an hour earlier and begins his cooling-down stretching routine, he feels both more exhausted and more relaxed than he has in ages.

“Dayum!”

Kurt’s head snaps up from where he’s been bent over stretching his leg, and his breath hitches. Not just because the guy that just catcalled him is hot -although he undoubtedly is- but because Kurt actually recognizes him. Or rather, he recognizes the black-and-blue wetsuit that’s hanging down from the guy’s hips, offering Kurt a wonderful view on a set of well-defined abs: it’s the same guy that had been showing off on the waves a little earlier.

Abs or no abs, though, Kurt has never appreciated being catcalled, and he’s not going to make an exception just because the caller in question happens to have a perfect six-pack and endless, muscular arms that make Kurt’s thoughts wander into all kinds of directions, none of which are, unfortunately, appropriate for the situation at hand.

“Seriously?” he asks, making sure the indignation in his voice is clear. “All the pick up lines in the world and you go with ‘dayum’? Color me severely disappointed - I thought you surfers had a reputation to uphold?”

“What can I say?” the guy grins, opening his arms apologetically, although the twinkle in his bright green eyes makes Kurt doubt the sincerity of the gesture. “Seeing that ass of yours just rendered me _speechless_.” 

“Well, next time you see something that makes you speechless, I suggest you actually _don’t speak_ ,” Kurt snaps back. The guy just laughs.

“To be honest I’m more of an ‘if you like it you should go for it’ kind of guy, but thanks for the advice.”

He winks and gives Kurt a final once-over and then he’s gone, leaving Kurt with his indignation and a quite enjoyable view of the guy’s back muscles. It’s infuriating, really, and Kurt quickly decides it’s just not worth his time. He’s going to finish stretching, get back to the hotel, have breakfast with Mercedes, and then they can lament the lack of class of the average surfer population together.

And that is exactly what happens.

Well, except for the 'lamenting the lack of class' part, because for some reason Mercedes feels that teasing him for being hit on by a surfer is infinitely funnier than actually making fun of the stupidity of said surfer himself. Still, they’re both in a good mood when they head out into town after breakfast. Sam has sent Mercedes a text to say he’s working the morning shift, and they decide to go say hello before they go shopping, both so they’ll know where to be later that day and because it’s unlikely they’ll be able to catch up much at the goodbye party itself.

The bar where Sam works is called Bord’eaux, but the credit Kurt had mentally given the owner upon first hearing the name quickly disappears when he sees it painted in big, bright lettering on an old surfboard hanging over the entrance. He elbows Mercedes, nodding at the sign, and together they sigh and shake their heads. Some people just have _no_ sense of originality…

As it turns out though, Bord’eaux isn’t just a bar: it’s a surf shop too. The bar on the left and the shop on the right each have their own entrance, but inside both businesses blend together almost seamlessly. Surfboards cover most of the walls, posters of -Kurt presumes- famous surfers and postcards from exotic surfing destinations fill up the gaps, and a too-large flatscreen tv hanging in the back corner is displaying what appears to be detailed surfing conditions for every mile of the Californian coast. All the way at the back, spanning almost the entire width of the room, is a large wooden counter which appears to serve both as a bar and a cash desk, as if there’s really no difference between buying a beer and buying a wetsuit, because after all it’s a surfer’s beer and a surfer’s wetsuit and it’s all part of a surfer’s life. Every square inch of the place _breathes_ surfing -even the coat hangers are made from old surfboard fins- and Kurt wonders how it is possible to stay in this place for more than four hours and _not_ get sick of surfing.

There’s one customer in the shop, going through a rack of short-sleeved shirts, but the bar is empty except for Sam, who is washing glasses behind the counter.

“Mercedes! Kurt!” he exclaims as soon as he catches sight of them, setting aside the glasses and drying his hands to come out and meet them. “I can’t believe you guys actually made it! Especially you, Kurt, it’s been... how long has it been?”

“A long time,” Kurt smiles as he lets Sam wrap his arms around him. “You’re looking good.”

“I know,” Sam grins, puffing up his chest and dragging his hands down along it, showing off his muscles in the process. He’s wearing nothing but board shorts, and when Mercedes shoots Kurt an amused look Kurt can’t help but smile along with her - some things really do never change.

“Sammy, could you give me a hand here I’m- well, hello again.”

It’s him. _That_ guy. The one who had been showing off that morning, who’d checked out Kurt’s ass and called it ‘dayum’. It’s him and he’s standing in the middle of the shop, bright green eyes fixed on Kurt as if he’s a particularly juicy piece of turkey. His short, brown hair is still a little wet from a recent shower and styled haphazardly in that messy but terribly attractive just-out-of-bed kind of way, and it’s only because the wetsuit he’s currently wearing is actually covering his upper body -and is _slightly_ less formfitting than the one he had on earlier that morning- that Kurt manages not to stare at him.

“Hey Goof!” Sam calls out, apparently unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “These are my friends, Kurt and Mercedes. Remember I told you they’d come? Guys, meet Goof, my b-”

“Yes, thank you, Sammy,” Goof, interrupts him, stretching out his hand towards Mercedes first. “Very nice to meet you, beautiful,” he croons, and Mercedes giggles like a teenager with a crush when he lifts her hand and presses a kiss on it. “And you...” he continues as he turns towards Kurt. “Nice to finally be able to put a name to the... face.”

The way he glances at Mercedes makes it clear that’s not what he originally intended to say, and so when he tries to lift Kurt’s hand to repeat the hand kiss Kurt demonstratively refuses to let him, keeping his hand down. Fortunately Goof doesn’t push it, smoothly lets go of Kurt’s hand as if a simple shake had been the plan all along, and Kurt’s sure neither Mercedes nor Sam are none the wiser of what just happened between them.

“Goof,” he acknowledges with a short head nod. Figured that the guy would go by a stupid nickname instead of his actual name. “I’m not even sure why I’m surprised.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises,” Goof smiles mischievously, causing Kurt to roll his eyes, and this time Sam finally seems to notice there’s something going on between them.

“You guys know each other?” he asks, glancing between the two men.

“Unfortunately.”

“Not as well as I’d like.”

They’ve both spoken at the same time, and there’s a beat before, much to Kurt’s surprise, Goof starts laughing.

“Honesty,” he says, grinning at Kurt appreciatively. “I like that in a man. Now I would love to stay and chat, but I actually have somewhere important to be. Sammy - I’ve already unpacked the deliveries and set aside the orders, if you could _please_ replenish the shelves before I get back?”

“Yeah, sure, whe-”

“Twelve at the latest, shoobies only paid for one hour and I got the Maddisons booked immediately after. But Mandy also got both shifts booked today which is why I really need you to do it, okay?”

“You can count on me, captain!" 

It’s one of Sam’s more ridiculous impressions, complete with salute, but it’s obviously not the first time he’s done it because Goof just smiles and pats him on the back, and then, with a last wink at Kurt, he’s out the back door.

“Is he always like that?” Kurt asks, and Sam shrugs.

“I guess? He's a good guy, but there's the bar and the shop and the classes... it can get pretty stressful round here.“

“That’s not what I mean,” Kurt interrupts, making a vague hand gesture. “I was more talking about, the whole… flirting thing?”

“Oh!” Sam finally seems to catch on. “Nono, not at all! To be honest, he’s usually a lot more aggressive. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, if you know what I mean. Seriously, not to gossip, but I’ve worked here less than a year and I’d need more than just my fingers and toes to count the number of guys I’ve seen stumbling out of his bedroom.”

Sam’s reply almost raises more questions than it answered, but Kurt tries to push them all from his mind. It’s harder than he’d like admit though. Because _abs._

“So is ‘Goof’ short for something or were you just making fun of him?”

“To be honest I’m not sure what his actual name is,” Sam hesitates. “Something like Sheridan? Or Sebastian. Sullivan? Something with an S. And an ‘an’. I don’t know, he always just introduces himself as Goof.”

“You mean he actually _promotes_ it?” Kurt asks incredulously, and then shakes his head. “That only makes it worse.”

“He’s hot, though,” Mercedes pipes up, and she doesn’t even look contrite when Kurt shoots her a judging look. “Well, it’s true! So was that...?”

“Yes,” Kurt sighs. “Yes, it was.” And then, as an added clarification to Sam, who’s looking terribly confused: “Your… _friend_ hit on me when I was stretching this morning. Called my ass ‘dayum’.”

He’s not even surprised when Sam bursts out laughing. 

“See?” he grins. “Now _that’s_ much more Goof’s style. But look, I’d really love to keep chatting with you guys but... I got work waiting for me.”

They say their goodbyes quickly, although Sam doesn’t let them go before he’s given each of them a couple chips they’ll be able to get free drinks with later that night. They leave him to his work after that, and dedicate the rest of their day to shopping and enjoying the not-too-hot-not-too-cold weather. Kurt almost manages to not feeling guilty about taking holidays while really he should be looking for a job, but both times he tries to bring it up Mercedes immediately shuts him down, insisting that he’s deserved a holiday and for once he should just listen to her and stop worrying.

And so, for once, he does.

They make it back to the hotel with two shopping bags each (all for Mercedes) and almost three hours to spare, more than enough time to have a quick meal and start preparing for the party. Kurt suspects the large majority of the partygoers will stick to board shorts and nothing else, and even if he’s never minded standing out he tries to keep his own outfit simple. They _are_ going to a party, after all, and there’s little use in carefully arranging layer over layer when he’s going to end up shedding them all because it’s too hot to keep them on when he’s dancing. As much as he hates to admit it: some moments are simply not as good an opportunity for fashion as others.

Still, when he finally emerges from the bathroom and makes a twirl to show off his outfit, Mercedes whistles appreciatively. 

“Damn, boy, are you trying to impress someone?”

She says it neutrally enough, but still he knows exactly what she means.

“Don’t you even dare,” he warns her. “Don’t you even dare implying what I think you're implying."

"Well, I'm not the one with painted-on pants," Mercedes teases, and Kurt sticks his chin in the air, only a little self conscious as he takes in his reflection in the large mirror behind their beds. The stretchy fabric of his bright blue capris indeed does accentuate the curve of his ass, but really, he's worn tighter pants than this, and he likes to think that the off-white button up dotted with palm trees adds a playful element. There's something missing though, and he stares in the mirror for a while before he reaches for his suitcase and pulls out a crinkled red scarf.

"Ah yes…" Mercedes nods thoughtfully as she watches him drape it around his neck. "Not trying to impress anyone at all."

Kurt glares at her. 

“Oh come on, he’s cute!” Mercedes tries again. “Plus he seemed to really like you.”

“He called my ass ‘dayum’,” Kurt starts counting on his fingers, even if he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. Because _abs_. “He works at a surf bar. He calls himself ‘Goof’ for christ’s sake! He may be hot but he is so not boyfriend material.”

“So you _do_ think he’s hot?”

“Not boyfriend material, ‘Cedes!”

“Hey, who said anything about boyfriends?” Mercedes says innocently. “I bet you could have a lot of fun for a night...”

“Mercedes!” 

“What?” Either Mercedes is actually oblivious to Kurt’s shock, or she’s a better actress than Kurt had given her credit for. “He likes you, you like him -don’t even deny it-, this is the 21st century, people are allowed to have sex for fun now, you know?”

“Still not gonna happen,” Kurt says determinedly, turning away from his friend and hoping she won’t notice how the blush creeping up his cheeks has more to do with excitement than with embarrassment. “I’m not a one-night-stand kind of guy, you know that.”

“Oh really? Because I seem to remember an occasion at Mr. Shue’s first wedding when-”

“That was different!” Kurt immediately cuts her off. “Besides, you and I both know how that ended...” He closes his eyes, fruitlessly trying to keep the memories away. It had been even more painful breaking up with Blaine the second time. At least the first time he’d been able to blame Blaine, whereas the second time... “I won’t let myself be pushed into a relationship, not now, not ever.”

“Oh honey, I'm not pushing you into a relationship,” Mercedes reassures him. “Just into a little fun.”

She winks, and for all the frustration he’s feeling Kurt can’t help but smile back. He knows she doesn’t mean any harm, and really, she _is_ right about one thing...

“He really is hot though.”

“Oh my god isn’t he?” Mercedes swoons and throws herself back on the bed, and Kurt laughs. “Those _shoulders_ , good lord, he even puts Sam to shame.”

“And you should have seen him this morning,” Kurt adds teasingly, climbing on the bed beside her. “He had this wetsuit on, a different one from what you saw him in: black with blue stripes, like flames licking up the sides of his body, and he’d taken off the top part so he was basically naked from the waist up and his abs were... _delicious_.”

“Oh my god _shut up_!”

Mercedes groans, and they both burst out laughing. They still have half an hour to kill before they need to leave, and they haven’t gossiped about boys like this in ages.

Yes, Kurt thinks as he listens to Mercedes’ plights about not having a chance of registering on Goof’s radar - no matter how much he misses New York, and regardless of whether or not his Hollywood career takes off, taking a break to come to LA might have been the best decision he’s made in a while.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say something last time! Because as much as I enjoyed writing this story, the idea actually isn't mine. It was [Angie's](http://gleeddicted.tumblr.com) [fake movie poster](http://worldoflis.tumblr.com/post/58148125981/gleeddicted-fake-movie-poster-those) for "Those California boys" (a klaine AU) that started the whole thing, and she graciously gave me permission to use the idea for a Kurtbastian fic. So all hail to Angie!
> 
> Then, as some of you may have noticed... the rating went up. Yeah... :D I was on the fence about it, mainly because I'm a terribly inexperienced smut writer, but as I was editing I felt inspired and then the below chapter happened... This part is not actually beta'd, so I hope it's at least a little decent, and I hope you enjoy? (for those who'd rather skip the explicit bits, just stop reading when Kurt and Sebastian leave the dance floor, and pick up again next chapter)

Bord’eaux is already packed by the time they arrive. Someone has pulled away the racks that had occupied the shop-half earlier that day, providing a make-shift dance floor, and Kurt uses Mercedes for support as he stands up onto the tips of his toes to scan over the dancers’ heads. Sam is easy to spot, rocking out in the middle of the floor, and they quickly start pushing their way through the crowd. And if the uncoordinated movements hadn’t already made it clear, the crushing hugs Sam gives them definitely do: Sam’s well on his way to being drunk.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks!” Mercedes shouts in Kurt’s ear after Sam has introduced them to his friends. “You should dance with the Asian guy, I saw him check out your ass!”

Kurt laughs and chances a glance at the guy Mercedes was talking about, a thrill shooting through his stomach when he catches the shy smile on the other guy’s face. He’s cute, Kurt has to admit. That doesn’t mean he has any intention of dancing with him though - not yet, at least, not before he’s had any drinks to help him build courage. But it’s nice to feel appreciated, and his replying smile is genuine. 

It’s not five minutes before Mercedes is back with their shots, and only slightly longer than that before Kurt starts feeling that familiar buzz of instant happiness. He doesn’t like to get drunk, but he’s found that having a little alcohol tends to give him an energy boost, and soon he forgets what time it is or how long he’s been dancing, just gives himself over to the music and lets all the pent-up stress from the past months flow away through the swivel of his hips and the shimmy of his shoulders. The cute guy from earlier is grinding up against Sam, who seems hardly aware of anything happening around him, but Kurt doesn’t mind. It’s not what he’s here for, and he laughs when Sam’s drunken mind finally catches up and decides that grinding back is the best way to handle the situation.

“Still got some of those chips?” Mercedes asks him a little while later, not bothering to stop dancing to do so, and Kurt shows her his last three chips.

“You thirsty?” he asks, and Mercedes nods, smiling up at him pleadingly until he gives in with a sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll go get them. Same as usual?”

He weaves his way through the crowd and to the bar where, unfortunately, there’s only two people actually serving. It feels like forever before one of them finally turns to him to take his order, and Kurt only recognizes Goof when it’s already too late, his stomach doing a strange kind of somersault when they locks eyes. It seems like Goof has noticed, too, because the corners of his mouth lift in the tiniest smile, but to Kurt’s surprise he refrains from actually commenting, just tilts his head to show he’s ready to take Kurt’s order.

“Two malibu pineapple,” Kurt half-shouts so as to be heard over the music, and Goof nods wordlessly, turning around to start preparing the drinks in silence. It’s not what Kurt expected at all, and the complete lack of leers or come-ons bothers him more than it probably should. Damn Mercedes and her ridiculous ideas...

There’s a soft thud in front of him, and Kurt looks up to see the drinks he’d ordered sitting on the counter, presented to him with a wink and a dazzling smile, and he really can’t help himself.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

It seems to have been the exact question Goof had been waiting for, because his smile grows even wider and he gestures for Kurt to lean in a little closer.

“Somebody told me recently that if someone renders me speechless, I should not speak,” he says lowly in Kurt’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “And you... you’d render anyone speechless in that outfit.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Oh come on!” Goof laughs as he pulls back. “You gotta admit - that was a good one!”

“I’ll admit I didn’t see it coming,” Kurt says unwillingly as he grabs his drinks, but he's pretty sure Goof doesn't notice since the corners of his mouth abuse the alcohol in his blood to curl up in an involuntary smile.

“Then let me be a little more obvious,” Goof tells him, eyes sparkling as he leans in closer. “Will you save me a dance later?”

“No.”

It’s easier than Kurt thought it would be, rejecting the hot surfer with the perfect abs, although he almost immediately regrets it when he sees the look on Goof's face - disbelief with an undertone of disappointment. He's not sure how to fix it though.

“I mean - I don’t even know your name.”

… _that_ probably wasn't the best way.

“Okay, tiger,” Goof laughs, “I think I’m gonna ask you to give those drinks back. If you can’t even remember Sammy introduced us just this morning that probably means you've had enough.”

Kurt can’t tell if he’s serious or just joking, but when Goof reaches out he decides he’s not willing to take the risk and he quickly steps back, pulling his drinks protectively against his chest.

“I’m not drunk!” he insists even as he feels the ice cold alcohol swoosh over the edge of the glasses and soak his shirt, and he just hopes Goof doesn’t notice in the dim light of the bar.

“Obviously…” Goof says, folding his arms as he straightens himself, eyebrows raised in amusement. He’s wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt with the Bord’eaux logo on the front, a dirty towel slung loosely over his left shoulder, and the fashionista in Kurt can’t help but get frustrated at how he manages to make even such a mundane outfit look good. “So you remember my name then?”

“No,” Kurt says, lifting his chin up in the air. There’s not a lot of dignity left to save, but he’ll do what he can. “I don’t remember your name because all I was given was a nickname. And there’s no way in hell I’m dancing with a guy who calls himself ‘Goof’.”

Goof bursts out laughing, so joyously and spontaneously that Kurt can’t help but grin along even as he turns around and starts walking away. 

“So does that mean you’ll dance with me if I give you my actual name?” Goof calls after him.

Kurt winks at him over his shoulder.

“Maybe!”

.

Miraculously he makes it back to Mercedes with most of their drinks still in the glasses, and when they get lost in dancing once again it doesn’t take long before he’s forgotten all about his little run-in with the hot bartender. 

They dance for what feels like hours, and Kurt can’t remember when he was last this relaxed, when he last had this much fun. The dj’s playlist is full of songs they used to sing in Glee club -the poppy, more mainstream part of their former repertoire obviously, not the show tunes- and the whole party feels like a nostalgic roller coaster ride through their younger years. And Kurt dances. He dances like he hasn’t danced in months, _years_ even, he dances until he loses track of time, until-

“Sebastian.”

Kurt startles and spins around, finding a by-now almost familiar grin directed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Sebastian,” Goof- _Sebastian_ , repeats. He's discarded his t-shirt, dressed in nothing but a pair of hideous board shorts and matching flip flops, and Kurt needs to force himself to look Sebastian in the eyes, rather than the abs. “My name in return for a dance, that was the deal, wasn’t it?”

Sebastian.

Kurt turns the name around in his head, trying out the feel and the sound of it. Sebastian. It suits him, somehow, makes him a little less catcalling surfer and a little more human.

“Well, Sebastian,” Kurt smiles, “it’s nice meeting you.”

“Oh believe me,” Sebastian grins as he takes Kurt’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine. Now... would you care to dance with me?”

.

One dance, Kurt had said, but three songs later they’re still going strong. Sebastian’s a natural dancer, leading Kurt effortlessly even if they’re barely even touching. Still they’re close, and while it’s clear Sebastian wouldn’t mind getting even closer, Kurt hasn’t quite decided where he wants to draw the line yet.

“I still owe you two drinks!” he therefore half-shouts into Sebastian’s ear, hoping some conversation might take away the tension building up between them, and Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You do?” he asks. “I mean, sure, anytime but... why?”

“From earlier!” Kurt clarifies. “The malibus - I forgot to pay!”

To his surprise though, Sebastian bursts out laughing.

“Don’t worry about that, they’re on the house!”

“Are you sure your boss is ok with you giving out drinks to random strangers?”

For some reason, the question seems to amuse Sebastian endlessly.

“Don’t you worry about my boss,” he tells Kurt, still grinning, “he’s a cool dude.”

“You’re lucky then,” Kurt says, a little jealous, “my old boss would throw a fit if we so much as used an extra napkin.”

Sebastian doesn’t reply, just gives Kurt another of those amused smiles and then coaxes him a little closer still. Because while their little exchange has provided the distraction Kurt was looking for, the need to talk directly into each other’s ear has also brought them closer together, and Kurt can feel Sebastian’s thigh press against his, their hips moving together in ways that make it hard for Kurt to focus on anything but the man right in front of him. He has no idea where Mercedes has gone, no clue what time it is, but he can’t bring himself to care about either. Because dancing like this, feeling wanted like this, every single ounce of Sebastian’s attention directed at him, ... Kurt is almost drunk with how good it feels.

Without thinking he brings his arms up around Sebastian’s neck, and immediately Sebastian’s arms snake around him in return. Kurt's not used to dancing like this, usually just shimmies his way through every song, acting out the words as if he's on the set of a music video, but Sebastian has stilled his shoulders and silenced his lips and Kurt doesn't even mind, effortlessly following the lead of Sebastian's half-naked body pressed close to him.

It should be uncomfortable - despite the open doors the temperature in the bar is almost unbearable, Kurt's shirt sticking to his skin for how much he's been sweating, but all the heat of Sebastian's hands against his back does is make Kurt long for more. He's not sure if it's Sebastian himself, or all the pent-up frustrations of the past couple of months, or simply being in a place where nobody knows him and the consequences of his actions seem a lot less real than they might otherwise - all he knows is that he _wants_ , and so he closes his eyes, pressing himself a little closer as he leans his temple against Sebastian's.

It's almost too easy, though, to twirl his fingers in the wet curls at the base of Sebastian's neck, to glance at Sebastian through his eyelashes and see that he, too, has his eyes closed, as if he's enjoying this as much as Kurt is. It's even easier to lose his breath when Sebastian rubs his thumb under the hem of his button up, to not look away when Sebastian opens his eyes, pupils blown wide and dark and sending shivers down Kurt's spine, to lift his hand and tease his fingers along the line of Sebastian's jaw.

It's easy, and so he doesn't let himself think about the fact that Sebastian's essentially a stranger, or about how he's just another number on Sebastian's fucking card. He definitely doesn't let himself think about what it says about him that he's dancing with a guy whose idea of a compliment is 'dayum'. It feels too good - Sebastian's hands dragging over his ass, his own fingers trailing over the stubble on Sebastian's cheek, chin-

His breath hitches when Sebastian shifts and closes his lips around one of Kurt's fingers. His tongue circles the top before he sucks it further into the wet heath of his mouth, softly biting down on the knuckles. It makes something hot flare up deep in the pit of Kurt's stomach and he quickly loses track of the rhythm as he watches, mesmerized, how Sebastian is working over his finger, slow and steady and never once looking away from Kurt, a promise in his eyes.

 _Breathe_.

Kurt's not sure when they shifted from leaning their temples to leaning their foreheads, but they did, and somehow it feels even more intimate than before. He doesn't know what song is playing, doesn't even care - all he sees and feels and hears is Sebastian; tongue flicking out over Kurt's finger, hand squeezing his ass, breath hitching when Kurt drags his free thumb over Sebastian's lower lip. It's too much, and yet it's not enough, and when Sebastian sucks down on his finger once more Kurt pulls him close, finally crossing that unspoken barrier as he replaces his finger with his lips.

Their kiss starts out slow, as if they're both aware they only get one first kiss and they're determined to enjoy it as much as they can, but it's not long before the easy drag of lips and the soft licking of tongues turns more frantic. Kurt has no idea how long they've been kissing when Sebastian finally pulls away, but the whine that involuntarily escapes him is quickly cut off when he feels Sebastian's breath ghost over his ear.

"I live upstairs."

It's an invitation, or an offer maybe, and suddenly the full weight of what he's doing comes crashing down on Kurt. This isn't him, this isn't what he usually does.

But doing what he usually does has left him single and jobless and moving across the continent in a desperate attempt to get his life back on track and _this_ , dancing with a hot, half naked stranger in a random surf bar, this makes him feel good about himself. It makes him feel sexy, and powerful, and in control, and he's not ready to give that up.

"Not yet."

But he needs more time. He needs to enjoy this part first, whatever it is, before he lets Sebastian make good on the promise his lips make when they mouth along Kurt's neck, on the pledge his hands take when they slip under Kurt's shirt, rough calluses dragging over the soft skin of his lower back. And when Sebastian's lips crash down on his, making Kurt gasp and buck up his hips, he makes his own promise to himself.

He will not regret this.

.

They sneak out when the crowd starts thinning, Kurt following Sebastian's lead between abandoned racks of diving goggles and rubber shoes to a back door Kurt hadn't noticed earlier, and the unexpected cool darkness of what seems to be a hallway gives him goose bumps.

"God, you have no idea how hot you are," Sebastian pants in his ear, hands dragging up his sides as he keeps Kurt pressed against the wall, because apparently the distance between the bar and wherever Sebastian's bedroom is is too long to go without some kind of physical interaction.

"Less talking, more kissing," Kurt tells him, pushing Sebastian off and against the opposite wall. The soft thud echoes through the hall, and Kurt can feel Sebastian grin against his skin as he mouths down along Sebastian's neck. Without a shirt to stop him it's incredibly tempting to just keep going, to explore the planes of Sebastian's pecs with his tongue, tease his sun kissed skin with soft kisses and small touches, and if Kurt had been five years younger he wouldn't have hesitated to fall on his knees and blow Sebastian right there and then. Now, however, he prefers a little more luxury if he can get it. 

"Bedroom?"

Sebastian's chuckle is teasing, and much too amused, and Kurt drags his hands down Sebastian's stomach, over the edge of his board shorts, and down to where the outline of Sebastian's hardening cock is faintly visible through the fabric.

"Bedroom?" he repeats, his voice a little deeper as he presses his hand up, and Sebastian gasps, bucking up his hips in a desperate search for friction.

"Upstairs," he pants. He leans forward, chasing Kurt's lips for a kiss, but Kurt's already gone, standing at the end of the hallway with his hip cocked and his eyebrows raised.

"Well then?"

.

Sebastian all but chases him up the stairs, and it takes another five minutes of frantic kisses with Kurt's ass pressed against the living room table before they make it into the bedroom. Kurt barely takes time to take note of the dresser on his right, or the multitude of posters against the wall - he's not here to criticize Sebastian's interior design skills, he's here to have sex and he's long past the point of caring whether Sebastian's sheets match the curtains - even though they do. Besides, it's hard to focus on color schemes when he's being kissed to within an inch of his life.

He falls back on the bed, scrambling up on his elbows just in time to see Sebastian step out of his shorts and flip flops in one swift movement, and then he's hovering over Kurt, stark naked and fully determined to get Kurt on the same level as quickly as possible.

"How does this- I can't-"

Kurt slaps Sebastian's hands away from where they'd been trying to unbutton his shirt, reaching for them himself, but with Sebastian's mouth glued to his and Sebastian's hands under his shirt, stretching the fabric, it proves impossible to get the little buttons through the buttonholes.

"Fuck!"

"Arms up."

Kurt obeys without thinking, and it's not until Sebastian starts dragging up his shirt along his sides that he realizes what he's trying to do.

"No! You can't- you'll ruin-"

His protests are smothered when Sebastian pulls the shirt over his head, and it takes much too long -Kurt cursing and Sebastian tugging- before they finally manage to get the wet, sticky fabric to let go of his body completely.

"Beautiful," Sebastian breathes, slowly dragging his hands over the toned planes of Kurt's chest and stomach as he takes it all in, and Kurt has no choice but to let him, his hands still trapped in the shirt above his head. "You're just… _fuck_."

He dives down, dotting Kurt's chest with little kisses, making him gasp when he ghosts a breath over his nipples. He doesn't stop even as he reaches for Kurt's pants, simply moves his trail of kisses down along Kurt's sides, his hips, his stomach, and Kurt arches his back trying to get his body closer to Sebastian's mouth - he needs _more_ , more than just lingering touches and teasing kisses, and he moans in relief when the button finally pops open and his pants are unzipped.

But his solace is short-lived. Because as Sebastian slowly pulls down his capris, chasing the waistband with his lips and tongue, he kisses Kurt everywhere but where he needs it most, teasing and him with could-be touches on his hips and thighs and even knees. It's a delicious torture, but a torture nonetheless, and when Sebastian starts softly massaging his balls Kurt decides he's had enough, wriggling his hands to free them from the damn button up they're still stuck in.

He throws the shirt aside just as Sebastian tosses his capris, and he immediately locks his hands behind Sebastian's neck, pulling him close.

"For someone so direct you like teasing way too much," he chides in between kisses, and Sebastian chuckles. 

"Chase is the best part of the game, babe."

"You've already won the game," Kurt groans. "Just hurry up and claim your freaking pri- _fuck!_ "

He gasps as Sebastian grinds down on him, and again, the thin layer of his boxers doing nothing to diminish the delicious feeling of Sebastian's hard cock sliding against his own. It's too little, too rough, and it's perfect.

"Off," he pants, tugging at his underwear, and Sebastian makes quick work of them, tossing them over his shoulder before he crawls back on the bed. But Kurt's a quick learner, and before Sebastian can pin him down again he pulls his arm from under him, pushing him back on the bed.

"My turn."

Sebastian's toned chest seems to demand to be kissed, calling Kurt with promises of soft skin and solid muscle, but Kurt decides there's always time for that later. Right now his attention is focused on the trail of short, dark hair that leads down from Sebastian's belly button to a small bush of equally short, equally dark pubes, and on the cock that's resting on it. Kurt will never understand how there are people who can see a cock and _not_ have the urge to go down on it, and it's particularly true for Sebastian's. It's smaller than Kurt's and not quite as thick, flushed dark and beautiful against Sebastian's skin, and Kurt wastes no time.

" _FUCK_!"

Sebastian's hips buck up as Kurt's mouth closes down on his cock, taking it whole, swallowing when it hits the back of his throat. It fits perfectly, and as he slowly drags his lips down its length he can taste the salty taste of precome on his tongue. He doesn't pull off completely, sinking back down just before he reaches the head, and this time he's smart enough to hold on to Sebastian's hips, pressing them down into the mattress.

He uses every trick he knows, trailing his tongue along the slit, mouthing down the sides as slowly as he can possibly manage. He tries to remember how Sebastian had worked over his fingers earlier -the way he'd circled his tongue around the top, how he'd hollowed out his cheeks right before he'd started sucking- hoping that Sebastian had blown his fingers the way he'd want someone to blow his cock. And if the deliciously dirty little sounds Sebastian is making are any indication, Kurt's definitely on the right track.

"Turn around."

Sebastian's voice is hoarse, and when Kurt looks up at him there's a bottle of lube in his hand. He has no idea where that suddenly came from, but it's not hard to figure out what Sebastian is thinking of when he wiggles the bottle invitingly.

"Unless you want to... ?" 

Kurt smiles but shakes his head, getting up from his position between Sebastian's legs and placing his knees next to Sebastian's shoulders. It's a little awkward - Sebastian's taller than him and his shoulders are even broader than Kurt thought they were, but they make it work, and when Sebastian grabs his hips and licks a line over the slit of his cock, it's Kurt's turn to gasp. 

"Freaking tease," Kurt curses, and Sebastian's responding chuckle goes straight to his cock. Literally - the vibrations reverberating around the head as Sebastian mouths at it. It's distracting to say the least, and it only gets worse -or better, depending on how you look at it- when Sebastian replaces his lips by his lube-slicked hand and moves his mouth's attention a little higher, pressing small kisses around Kurt's hole before circling his tongue against the opening.

_Why did I always used to pick out inexperienced boyfriends?_

He has no idea how Sebastian does it, simultaneously working over his cock with one hand while slowly prepping his hole with his tongue, but he does it expertly, and it takes all the concentration Kurt can muster even to simply keep his knees from giving in. It's too much all at once, and it doesn't take long before he can feel the telltale heat pool deep in his stomach, his abs clenching with the force of his impending orgasm.

"Stop," he pants, trying to pull his hips up, but with little conviction. "I'm gonna-… I don't want to-"

"I don't mind." 

Sebastian's breath ghosts warm over Kurt's hole, wet and loose and aching to be filled now that Sebastian's tongue is no longer working it open, and Kurt shakes his head, not realizing Sebastian can't exactly see him from the angle he's at.

"I mind," he manages. "I want-… just-" 

He's not even sure _what_ he wants at this point -really he doesn't exactly care either as long as it includes Sebastian's cock in his ass- but Sebastian nods anyway, and Kurt can't keep in a soft whine when, with a final twist, Sebastian's hand pulls off of his cock.

"Patience, babe," Sebastian chuckles, dragging his hands over Kurt's ass cheeks as he presses a final, almost loving kiss against Kurt's hole. "Could you move forward a bit?"

Kurt does as he's asked, crawling on his hands and knees to the middle of the bed. Sebastian follows his lead, taking a few seconds to roll the condom over his own cock and royally cover it in lube before taking his position behind Kurt.

"This okay?" he asks, and Kurt scowls over his shoulder in reply. The head of Sebastian's cock is sliding against the crack of his ass already, and as far as Kurt's concerned he's been teased enough for the rest of his life - if Sebastian isn't going to take any action soon he just might reach down and take care of it himself.

"Just get on with it."

He doesn't need to say it twice - with a quick move Sebastian shoves Kurt's knees just a little further apart, and then carefully lines up his cock with Kurt's open hole.

He should have known Sebastian would take it easy, teasing him as he slowly - _slowly_ \- pushes into Kurt. But as much as he hates to admit it - it's not a bad thing. They haven't spent quite as much time on the prepping as they probably should have, and Kurt holds his breath, eyes closed, pressing his forehead against the mattress as he tries to adapt to the hot burn of his hole being stretched beyond its normal capacity.

"Oh god…"

He's not sure which one of them said it -maybe they both did- and Kurt groans. It's been a while since he's done this, and even longer since he was really into it. He'd forgotten it could feel like this - the satisfaction of being filled up so completely, the drag of the ring of muscle around another man's cock, and he whines -in pain, in pleasure- as Sebastian slowly picks up the pace. 

"Too fast?"

"Too slow."

Sebastian still takes his time, leisurely thrusting his cock in and out of Kurt for a while longer before he grabs Kurt's hips and starts fucking him in earnest. It's almost embarrassing how quickly Kurt can start feeling his orgasm building up yet again, stomach clenching and heartbeat rising, and he reaches down, closing his hand around his own cock. It's still slick from when Sebastian had been working him over earlier, and he moans as he starts to jack himself off, keeping the same rhythm Sebastian is fucking him with. He needs more though -more touch, more speed, more _everything_ - and he arches his back, tilting his hips as he tries to find that one angle that-

"Ffffuck!"

Come spills all over his hand and the sheets under him, and if it hadn't been for Sebastian's strong grip on his hips he might have collapsed completely for the force with which his orgasm hit him. He doesn't get to come down from his high though, not yet, because Sebastian's still fucking into him, movements getting more desperate and breath coming in ever shorter bursts, until he suddenly gasps and stills, fingers digging deep into Kurt's hips when Kurt clenches his ass around his cock.

It takes a few long, blissful minutes for both of them to get enough of their braincells up and running to be able to untangle themselves, and Kurt lets himself roll onto his back, careful to avoid the sticky spot of his come on the sheets. Sebastian discards of the condom first and then joins him, sprawling out on the mattress.

"What do you think," he finally asks, long after his breathing has evened out and Kurt was half convinced that he'd actually fallen asleep. "Five minute break, and then round two?"

He turns his head to wink at Kurt, and Kurt smiles back, unimpressed.

"Ten minutes," he offers, "and no teasing this time."


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [start football intermezzo]The Red Devils won!! Yiha![\end football intermezzo]
> 
> Ahem...
> 
> Not much to say about this one, except that it's like, twice as long as usual? Didn't really find a good point to break it though, so yeah, have at it :). I'll be traveling for the next two weeks, and while I have the chapters written I'm not sure if I'll always have all the internet access I need/want.
> 
> Many thanks for the love you guys have given me, hope you enjoy!

“Kurt?”

There’s something familiar about the voice that reaches Kurt through the mist of his sleep, something good and warm and fuzzy tugging at his brain, but he’s not nearly awake enough to be able to place it, or even to want to.

“Kurt, please wake up for a moment.”

“Lea’me ‘lone,” Kurt mumbles, throwing an ineffective punch in the general direction of the voice as he turns his back on it. “Lemme sleep.”

“I’ll let you sleep in a minute,” the voice promises, “I just need you to listen to me for a sec okay?”

Kurt grumbles unintelligibly. It’s too early for this - even through his closed eyelids he can see it’s only barely light out.

“I’m gonna go out on dawn patrol,” the voice continues, “so don’t freak out when you wake up and I’m gone. There’s fresh towels in the bathroom in case you want to take a shower, if you want breakfast just go down to the bar. I’m teaching so I'll probably be out by the time you get up but Alex will be there, I’ll let her know you’re here so just tell her what you want, she’ll show you where everything is.”

“Dawn patrol, towels, breakfast with Alex - got it,” Kurt mumbles, only half-aware of what he’s repeating. “Now lemme sleep.”

The voice chuckles, and then there’s the soft press of lips against his forehead.

“Sleep tight, babe.”

Kurt’s already back to sleep before he can hear the door fall shut.

. 

It’s a few hours later when Kurt wakes up the second time - or the first time, really. On autopilot, he reaches for his phone, and it’s only when he can’t find it in its usual spot on the night stand that he realizes with a shock he’s not in his own room. Which makes sense, since he can hardly expect to wake up in his New York bedroom when he’s in California, but this is not the hotel room he’d spent the previous night in either, or even his new room at Mercedes’ place - this room looks a lot bigger, even more so because the sunlight that shines through the heavy dark blue curtains bathes the room in a soft, soothing glow. It gives an impression of being underwater, although Kurt suspects the many decorations on the wall -posters upon posters from dare-devils surfing waves several times their own size- and the room’s color scheme might also have something to do with that. From the walls to the bed to the lamp hanging from the ceiling, the whole room is covered in shades of blue with accents of gray. It’s not a color scheme Kurt would ever pick out for himself, but for Sebastian, who’s obviously more than a little into surfing, it works.

Sebastian...

The memory of last night makes Kurt jolt up, but when he checks the space beside him he finds it empty and cold. Meaning he’s not just in a stranger’s room: he’s _alone_ in a stranger’s room, and for a second he panics. What the hell is he supposed to _do_?

_Dawn patrol, towels, breakfast with Alex - got it...._

In an instant, Kurt is on the floor, pulling at his pants in an attempt to locate his phone and figure out the time. Sebastian had woken him up _hours_ ago, and he didn’t exactly seem like the type to take early starts, which meant it was probably already-

_7:34_

Kurt lets out a sigh of relief, although it quickly turns into a groan when he sees the slew of text messages he’s got from Mercedes. He hadn't seen her -or even thought about her- after Sebastian had shown up, and a wave of guilt washes over him. Who went to a party with their best friend and then ignored them the moment some pretty boy showed up?

He's not quite ready to face that particular problem yet, though, and he decides to ignore the messages for the moment - what he needs now is a hot shower, not an incurably nosy friend who’s overly invested in his sex life.

The bathroom is easy enough to find, as are the towels Sebastian had promised. They’re actual towels too, fluffy and soft -and again, blue-, not the kind of sandpapery excuses for towels his dad still keeps around despite his and Carole’s incessant protests. That’s not even the biggest surprise though. Because the shower is huge, with a glass door which is engraved with a tidal wave, and there are no less than 6 massage jets. How a surf instructor slash bartender can afford such a cubicle of luxury is a mystery to Kurt, but he’s not complaining - it’s by far the most relaxing shower experience he’s had in a long time, and if he stays in just slightly longer than strictly necessary... who can blame him?

Unfortunately, however, he can’t escape reality forever. And so once he’s reluctantly left the shower he hauls himself into yesterday’s clothes, sends a text to Mercedes (“I promise I’ll do the dishes for a month if you promise to pick me up asap”), and then prepares for his walk of shame.

 _No_ , he reprimands himself, it won’t be a walk of shame. As Mercedes had told him the day before: this was the 21st century, and Sebastian and he were both consenting adults - there was absolutely nothing shameful about them engaging in casual sex. Hell, if Kurt had the choice he'd probably do it all over in an instant.

The thought makes something hot flare up in his chest but he pushes it down - he has other things to think about right now. Because even if he’s not going to feel bad about what happened last night, he still has no idea how this is supposed to work. Sebastian had said something about breakfast, but Kurt’s pretty sure that having breakfast with a one-night-stand is a big no-no. Then again, he’s really hungry, and Sebastian has actually been really nice so far, so maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad?

He makes his way back to the bar based on half-memories of how they got to Sebastian’s room the night before, through the empty living room and down the stairs. He takes a wrong turn somewhere and ends up in an unfamiliar kitchen, but there's a tv playing in the distance and when he follows the sound, through a half-open door, sure enough he finds himself back in the bar, the tv on at full volume. There is nobody in sight, however, and when Kurt cautiously walks in a little further, hope flares up in his chest. Maybe he'll be able to avoid any awkwardness altogether, maybe he can just sneak out and-

“Looking for me?”

Kurt spins around. Leaning against the doorframe, muscled arms folded over well-defined pecs and a knowing smile playing around his lips, is Sebastian. He’s looking unfairly hot with his hair still wet and a pair of red flowery board shorts hanging low on his hips and Kurt can’t help but stare at his arms, his waist, his abs. The worst part is that Sebastian just _lets_ him, looking every bit as smug as Kurt can remember from their first meeting, and that’s what finally gets Kurt to get over himself and drag his eyes back to Sebastian’s face.

“Just looking for the exit,” he finally manages, and by some divine miracle his voice doesn’t even crack. “Already called my friend to pick me up, she’ll be here in five.”

“Oh really?” Sebastian asks, eyebrow raised, as if he knows Kurt’s lying. “And here I was hoping I wouldn’t have to have breakfast alone for a change.”

If this were a cheesy nineties romcom Kurt’s stomach would probably start rumbling loudly at this point, but fortunately for him he's saved the embarrassment. It doesn’t mean he’s not aware of the gaping hole where his stomach should be, though. He hesitates.

"Isn't there like a rule against people having breakfast after a one-night-stand?"

"That what it was?" 

It doesn't sound unfriendly, or friendly, or _anything_ , really - a perfectly neutral tone to match Sebastian's perfectly neutral expression. Still Kurt can't shake the feeling that he's missing something, that if he knew Sebastian better he'd be able to make something of the tense line of his jaw, the flickering of his eyes back and forth. 

"What else would it be?"

Sebastian shrugs.

"Some guys get ideas in their heads," he says. "Want it to be a regular thing. A permanent thing."

"Not me."

It comes out a little harsher than Kurt intended, but he can't help it. Maybe it's jealousy because Sebastian obviously has no difficulty -or qualms- getting guys to sleep with him, or maybe it's some misplaced sense of betrayal at the reminder that he was just the next guy in line, but Kurt feels the need to prove himself somehow, to show Sebastian that he's not some naïve little twink who expects Sebastian to sweep him off his feet and ride into the sunset with him. He knew what he was signing up for, and he promised himself no regrets.

"Well then that's settled," Sebastian tells him cheerfully, clasping his hands together and offering Kurt a beautiful, non-obstructed view of his chest, making all Kurt's worries about tense jaws go up in smoke. "So is that no-breakfast-after-a-one-night-stand thing a hard rule of yours, or is there some wiggle room? I mean, I’m almost out of cereal, but there’s still some yoghurt and fruit if you’d like. There’s eggs and bacon too, but you’ll have to make that yourself cause I can’t stand the smell.”

“Then why do you have it?”

Sebastian shrugs.

“Some guys swear by it. So, breakfast. Yes or yes?”

Kurt gives in.

“Some yoghurt would be nice. But-uh, I did really text Mercedes to come pick me up, so I won’t stay long.”

“And I won't keep you. Want coffee too?”

“No sugar, lots of milk. Please.”

Sebastian nods and then disappears into the kitchen, leaving Kurt to stand awkwardly in the middle of the bar, not sure what to do. There’s a laptop and a pair of glasses on one of the tables that Kurt assumes are Sebastian’s, but he’s not sure if he can just sit down there - he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s snooping.

“Sit,” Sebastian tells him with a nod towards the laptop table when he comes back, balancing Kurt’s coffee in one hand and a gigantic fruit basket in the other. “Yoghurt’s in here, didn’t remember what fruit you’d said, figured I’d bring it all. This ok?”

“More than ok,” Kurt says, eyes growing wide at the sight of bananas and kiwis and peaches as he takes over the coffee and takes a seat. “You always have a whole fruit shop in the house or are you just trying to impress me?”

Sebastian laughs, dragging both hands down his chest.

“Can’t keep this body running on Domino’s,” he winks. “Not without giving it some healthy snacks in between anyway.”

“You do realize that’s why they invented Hawaiian pizza, right?”

Sebastian bursts out laughing -he does that a lot, Kurt has noticed, it’s one of the things he likes about him- and drops down in the chair opposite Kurt, shaking his head.

“Don't we all wish it were that easy,” he grins, and then focuses back on the laptop in front of him, grin slowly fading as he seems to forget that Kurt is even there.

For a while they just sit in silence, Sebastian typing away on his laptop while Kurt burns his tongue on his too-hot coffee and tries to decide what fruit he wants in his yoghurt, and it’s strange how not-strange it is.

“You-uh… got any knife?” Kurt asks when he realizes the spoon in his hand is not going to do much to help his chosen fruit -a mango- end up in nice square pieces. 

“Second drawer from the right.”

Sebastian doesn't even bother looking up from his laptop, simply points behind him with his thumb, and it takes a few seconds for Kurt to realize he should just go and get the knife himself. The ease with which Sebastian lets him into his life -lets him use his bathroom, his towels, his kitchen- amazes him, because if Sam was right Kurt is definitely not the first stranger to wake up in Sebastian’s bed.

Or maybe Sebastian’s so surprisingly open with it all _because_ Kurt’s not exactly the first stranger to wake up in Sebastian’s bed.

The cutlery drawer is easy enough to find, and before long he's back at their table in the bar. Sebastian doesn’t pay him much attention, brow furrowed in concentration as he peeks at the screen over his thin-rimmed glasses and looking more like a sexy accountant than the seasoned flirt of last night.

“So... what are you doing?” Kurt asks as he starts his attack on the mango.

“Getting the 411,” Sebastian replies distractedly, taking another spoonful of cereal. “Translate into plain English, upload to the screens. Usually first shift does this but Alex's not very good with computers so I’m doing it for her.”

“So you’re, what, the manager here? Is that why you live upstairs?” 

It earns Kurt an amused smile.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Well, at least that would explain why Sebastian wasn’t worried about giving Kurt free drinks the night before.

Kurt raises his cup, taking a small sip of coffee. It’s still too hot to drink and so he sets it aside for a little while longer and continues preparing his breakfast instead. He’s just about to take his first spoonful of yoghurt-with-almost-perfect-squares-of-mango when Sebastian’s phone starts vibrating on the table between them.

“Hey Alex!” Sebastian says cheerfully as he picks it up, clamming it between his shoulder and his cheek so he can continue working. “Thought you’d be here by now. Stuck in traffic again?”

Whatever Alex’s reply is, though, it immediately wipes the smile off Sebastian’s face, and he takes his phone back in his hand.

“She _what_?... Is she okay?... No, of course, nono, you should stay with her, of course you should... no, don’t worry about it, Mandy can take over, it’ll be fine, you just- you just make sure she’s okay... good... if you need anything let me know... take care... bye...”

He doesn’t even look at Kurt as he hangs up the call and immediately starts dialing another number, impatiently tapping his pen against the table surface. The conversation that follows is short and to the point, and there’s a frown on Sebastian’s forehead when he hangs up and dials yet another number, only for the process to repeat itself. With each phone call the frown gets deeper and the pen tapping becomes more frantic, and it’s only after the fifth call or so that Sebastian lays down the phone. 

“GODDAMNIT MURPHY!”

The phone bounces off the table as Sebastian wipes it away, and for a few seconds Kurt just sits frozen, spoonful of yogurt halfway to his mouth, staring at Sebastian who’s still cursing and dragging his hands through his hair.

“One day. One _fucking_ day where I don’t have a backup and _of course_ that’s when I need one. _FUCK_.”

His hands slam down on the table with a hard thud, causing the mugs to rattle and Kurt to jump.

“Problem?” he asks softly, and Sebastian’s head jerks up, as if he’d forgotten Kurt was even there.

“Sort of,” he says after a short pause, clearly struggling to remain calm. “Alex, she- she's the girl who was doing the bar with me yesterday, if you remember? Anyway, she had the day shift today but her kid got run over and she's taking her to hospital. Which, don’t get me wrong, takes priority, but apparently everyone else and their mom has some urgent matter to attend to today cause I can’t find anyone to take over for her.”

“Oh.” 

“Which means I have about...” Sebastian checks his laptop. “... about an hour and a half to find someone who’s capable of keeping the shop _and_ the bar open or  worst case scenario I might miss a whole day's earnings. You don’t happen to know anyone with catering experience who doesn’t have any pets to take to the vet or kids to demand custody of, do you?”

“I’m a waiter.” Kurt’s not sure what made him say the words but he _is_ looking for a job, and Sebastian did ask, didn’t he? “I mean I worked at the same diner since I started college, I could give you the name if you want, I’m sure they’d be willing to vouch for me.”

At least he hopes they are. Gunther hadn't appreciated just how quickly he’d given his notice to move to LA, but he’d worked there for years and there never had been any complaints. That had to count for something, right?

But Sebastian’s just looking at him as if he’s sprouted an extra head. 

“You're a waiter?"

“Actually I'm an actor. Well, _aspiring_ actor,” Kurt corrects himself. “But you know how it goes - these days acting classes come with a free course in catering. Either way I’m unemployed and I’m qualified.”

“Right…” Sebastian drawls, obviously not quite convinced yet. “Do you know anything about surfing? Anything at all?”

“I thought your only demands were experience with catering, no pets and no kids?”

“Kurt…”

“Well, I know it’s usually accompanied by poor fashion choices.”

This time Sebastian raises an amused eyebrow.

“Oh right. Because we actually know where our priorities lay when we spend our dollars on quality sticks and wetsuits instead of fancy three-layer outfits we never wear because it’s too fucking hot for that round here anyways?"

“I mean outside of the water you only ever seem to bother with half a layer,” Kurt shoots back, gesturing at Sebastian’s board shorts. “And you don’t even put effort in _that_.”

“Might be so,” Sebastian admits with a wicked grin, “but last night one of us was whining in frustration because his clothes weren’t coming off fast enough and it wasn’t me.”

“Whatever.” Kurt dismisses the comment with a wave of his hand, though he can feel his cheeks flush a deep red, something that seems to amuse Sebastian endlessly. “Now do you want my help or what?”

.

Turns out that yes, Sebastian really does want his help - though not before he has actually checked Kurt’s references, and Kurt’s not sure whether to feel insulted by the apparent doubt or impressed by the sense of responsibility. He distracts himself from his confusion by calling Mercedes, telling her he won't ride home with her that day but not to worry - Sebastian's got business in LA the following day and will give him a lift home. She still stops by on her way home - officially to drop off his overnight bag, but with the way she keeps winking and nudging his shoulder she very nearly kills him with embarrassment. He’s glad when she finally goes -giving him two thumbs up and yet another wink when she thinks Sebastian isn’t looking- and leaves him alone with Sebastian.

The first thing Sebastian does is toss him a bright red t-shirt, similar to the one Sebastian had been wearing the night before. It's a loose, shapeless piece of fabric which says, in big, white lettering 'Bord'eaux, surf shop', and it's a pretty hideous piece of clothing. Still, it's freshly washed, and not soaked in day-old sweat, and so Kurt doesn't complain as he pulls the thing over his head.

The second thing Sebastian does is give him a tour of the shop and the bar. They start out at the storage room, which holds crates of beer sitting peacefully next to boxes filled with board shorts, and Kurt shakes his head a little at the absurdity of it all. He could -to a certain degree- understand someone wanting to open a surf shop, or a surf bar, but _both_ at the same time? It just feels like overkill to him. Sebastian doesn’t seem to notice his astonishment, though, simply continues the tour to a large room at the back of the building. At first it seems to be another storage room of sorts, because the wall on the right is completely taken up by a rack that holds a couple dozen surf boards at least, while immediately opposite hang roughly an equal amount of long- and short-sleeved wetsuits. Smack in the middle there’s what appears to be a large table with a blanket draped over it, but Kurt’s attention is quickly drawn away from it when Sebastian opens one of two garage doors at the back, allowing Kurt to see that it gives out directly on the beach. This is the meeting point for the people who’ve booked surf classes, Sebastian explains, and it’s the reason Sebastian can’t keep the shop open himself that morning.

“Normally I teach until twelve, but I’ll try to cut it a little shorter,” he tells Kurt as he shows him the changing rooms and the lockers. “It’s a small group of regulars, I can tuck on an extra half hour next week or so to make up for it. So you’ll only be on your own for an hour or two. By the time the afternoon rush starts I’ll be long back.” 

Next up are the cash registers for both the bar and the shop, which fortunately are very similar to what Kurt’s used to working with, and the booking procedure for surf classes. It’s really not all that hard, but it _is_ a lot to take in at once, and by the time nine o’clock comes around and Sebastian has run him through all the starting up procedures, Kurt already feels exhausted. 

“Sunday mornings are usually pretty calm,” Sebastian reassures him, “so you shouldn't have a problem working both the shop and the bar. Sometimes people come in who want the whole talk on boards or suits or whatever it is they’re looking for - just explain to them you’re new and to come back in the afternoon, I really don’t have time to explain all that on top of everything else right now. They ask for the 411, you refer them to the screens.” He points at the large tv hanging in the corner behind the counter. “If they complain just tell ‘em you weren’t the one ironing the waves this morning and to move to Blacks already. Anyone else asks a question you don’t know the answer to, again, tell them you’re new and to come back later, it’s better not to say anything than to pretend you know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” Kurt says slowly, trying to process all the information being thrown at him. “But if there’s a problem I can call you, right? Like, if something goes wrong?”

“I’ll be out on the beach,” Sebastian says carefully, “so I won’t have my phone on me. But I told Mandy and Alex you’re taking over today and to keep their phones close - their numbers are on the staff list in the kitchen, on the fridge. Mandy’s worked here for almost as long as I have, she’ll be able to talk you through anything. But my class doesn’t start until ten, so I’ll be with you the first hour anyway, help you get the hang of things.” 

“Right,” Kurt says, a little relieved at the reminder. It’s strange how just an hour ago he’d very nearly walked away from Sebastian without looking back, and now he's almost dreading the moment Sebastian will walk away from him, even if it is for only two hours.

“So, ready?” Sebastian asks, his hand on the handle of the bar’s front door as he looks at Kurt questioningly. It’s nine, and they’re about to open, and Kurt is not ready at all. But he hasn’t spent four years of his life training as an actor for nothing, and so he stands a little straighter, stroking his hands down his flashy Bord'eaux shirt to smoothen it out, and smiles.

“Yes,” he says, voice clear. “Let’s do this.”

.

The first hour is indeed calm, as Sebastian had predicted, and slowly Kurt’s nerves start to dissipate, although he can’t help the twist in his stomach when, at 9.55, Sebastian gets up to get changed.

“You’ll be fine, right?” he asks Kurt for the umpteenth time, and Kurt rolls his eyes. For all that Sebastian _says_ he has faith in Kurt, it seems that now the time is here he’s actually more nervous than Kurt himself. “Just remember, to switch the register between the shop and the bar-”

“-press F8 and then either 1 or 2.”

“And the classes-”

“Tuesday through Sunday, mornings only, leaflets next to the register, registration book _under_ the register, 20% up front, no refunds,” Kurt drones. “I know, Sebastian. _I know_.”

It’s the mention of his name that finally causes a little smile to appear around Sebastian’s lips, and Kurt has to suppress the urge to reach out and pat him on the shoulder.

“Go,” he tells him instead, shooing him out the door. “Seriously. I’ll be fine, promise.”

.

And he is -of course he is- even if he needs to tell quite a few people to come back in the afternoon when they ask him whether they'll need a 3/2 or a 4/3 wetsuit in Oregon, or if they’re better off buying a fish or a short board for their trip to Hawaii. Half the time he barely understands the question, and he wonders if there’s any school or course he can go to because he has no idea how he’s supposed to know -or learn- any of this stuff.

He’s just taken the drinking order for a small group of highschoolers when Sebastian comes back in, wearing the same wetsuit Kurt had seen him in what feels like ages ago, but was really only a little over 24 hours. The wet neoprene is clinging to his body, accentuating the outline of his pecs and abs and making him look unfairly sexy, and the fact that this time  Kurt knows _exactly_ what’s actually underneath doesn’t help in the least - on the contrary. The only reason he manages to not make an actual fool of himself by staring too hard is the trail of water forming behind Sebastian, because sexy or not sexy, Kurt just can’t let that pass.

“Nonono,” he says sternly, wiggling his finger as he walks up to Sebastian and gestures for him to turn around. “No way. You are _not_ entering my shop dripping wet.”

“Excuse me?” Sebastian laughs, equal parts amusement and incredulity, even though he lets himself be pushed back easily. “No offense, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t _your_ shop.”

“It damn well is when I’m behind the counter,” Kurt shoots back. “Now go, shower, take that... _thing_ off and put on something... well, I’d say decent, but knowing your wardrobe let’s just go with ‘not dripping wet’.”

“But I-”

“Go!”

It’s with a sigh and a pout, but Sebastian does go, and when he reappears behind Kurt at the counter ten minutes later he’s not just wearing board shorts, but a red Bord'eaux shirt as well, and Kurt thinks this might be the one occasion in his life where he regrets people actually taking his dressing advice.

“Just go Alt and 6, then type in the numbers under the bar code,” Sebastian tells him, and it’s only now that Kurt remembers that, before Sebastian had come in, he’d been trying to figure out how to enter a pair of diving goggles into the system which for some reason weren’t recognized by the scanner. “Then you get the confirmation box, Enter, and then F2 as usual.”

He’s holding his arms on either side of Kurt, demonstrating the actions as he walks Kurt through them, and he’s standing close enough that Kurt can feel his body heat through the thin layer of his own shirt. The temptation to lean back into it is almost overwhelming, but just as he thinks he might risk a little sway, Sebastian steps back.

“There you go,” he says, and then, to the customer. “Thank you sir, and have a nice day!”

And then he’s gone, walking over to a young couple who were waiving for someone to take their order, and Kurt would probably have enjoyed the short encounter a little more if he’d known it would be pretty much the last of Sebastian he’d see for the next few hours. Because between it being past noon now and the number of people that are coming back to ask Sebastian about various surf-related things, they don’t get a moment to sit on their asses, which means it’s almost six when they finally get to say more than ‘excuse me, can I just...’ and ‘there’s a woman who wants to return her spring suit’.

“So, you ok there?” Sebastian asks when they’re finally both sitting down, and Kurt nods.

“I’m good,” he says, although he’s sure Sebastian can see the tiredness in his smile. “I’ll be sleeping like a log tonight, but I’m good.”

“Mandy texted me like half an hour ago she was on her way, so as soon as she gets here we can close the shop and take a dinner break while she takes the bar. Pizza sound good to you?”

Kurt gives Sebastian a grateful smile.

“So, this is what you do?” he asks, nodding at the shop in front of him. “Surf bar, surf shop, surf classes?”

Sebastian looks around the shop with a smile, and then shrugs.

“What can I say? I like surfing.”

“I figured that much, yeah.” Kurt shoots him an inquisitive look. “Aren't you scared you’ll get sick of it, though? Or like, break your leg and never be able to surf again?”

Sebastian laughs.

“Now you sound just like my dad,” he says. “There was actually a Filipino dude a while back who surfed with one leg, so I think I’d find a way to keep surfing no matter what happened. You haven't surfed before, have you?" 

Kurt shakes his head.

"Well… there’s this... _feeling_ you get, you know, whenever you’re riding a really great wave. Or not even a feeling, that’s too small a word for it - it’s more like a sensation, an experience not just with your body but with your mind too. Like time stands still, and everything just... _fits_. World peace, you know? And like, this is the fucking _ocean_ , dude. It’s billions upon billions of gallons of water and a gust of wind that could kill you if they played their cards right, but instead you kind of reach an understanding and you work together to create that awesome experience that is surfing, and when you get it right for that split second you really feel how you’re just a small part of something so much bigger than you. God, the Cosmos, whatever you wanna call it. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

Sebastian sighs, staring in front of him for a little as he seems to recall the moments he’s just been talking about, and Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“That’s... really deep,” he says, unable to help it sounding a little mocking. “I have to say, I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Hey, you asked!” Sebastian exclaims, giving Kurt a playful push.

“Oh nono _no_ ,” Kurt laughs as he regains his balance. “ _I_ asked whether you thought you’d ever get sick of surfing, and then _you_ started waxing lyrical on the pseudo-religious epiphanies you seem to have going on when you’re surfing.”

“Oh come on,” Sebastian pleads. “You never had anything you were passionate about? Like you came across something and you just _knew_ : this is it, this is what I wanna do with my life?”

It’s like a punch to the stomach, and just like that the playful atmosphere has gone and Kurt can’t bring himself to look anywhere but down at his hands. Because he did, of course he did, but he’s not sure he’s willing to have that conversation with Sebastian of all people.

“I used to dream about being on Broadway,” he finally admits when he looks back up, though he keeps his gaze fixed on the street outside. He’s not stupid - he knows he won't be the first waiter-aspiring-to-be-an-actor Sebastian meets, knows there’s thousands of people like him, dreaming the same dream. He knows because he’s met them and he’s seen them succeed where he has failed. “My mom... she loved musical theatre, and she’d put on these records and we’d... I don’t know, we’d dance through the house together and she’d tell me all the stories and explain all the jokes and... it always made her smile. And so I always wanted to do that - I wanted to sing those songs and tell those stories and make her smile.”

“What happened?” Sebastian asks, his voice noticeably softer than before, and Kurt shrugs. 

“Nothing,” he says flatly. “I dreamed big, got into NYADA, graduated at the top of my class and then... nothing. Lots of auditions, a handful of callbacks, and a stunning total of three chorus contracts, that’s what I have to show for my dream. Impressive, isn’t it?”

They sit in silence for a while, and Kurt’s almost relieved when a new customer enters the shop to buy some board wax, forcing Sebastian’s attention elsewhere. 

“Are you any good?”

“What?”

“Are you any good?” Sebastian repeats as he sits back down next to Kurt. Kurt hadn’t even noticed the customer leaving. “You said you graduated top of your class, but I don’t know the first thing about acting and I’ve never even heard of NAYDA-”

“NYADA,” Kurt corrects, and Sebastian raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘ _See?’_

“-so, objectively... are you good enough to be on Broadway?”

He’s looking at Kurt earnestly, as if Kurt’s answer _matters_ somehow, but Kurt shrugs.

“I thought I was,” he says. “I suppose technically I still do. It’s just that I’m kind of discovering that talent is only one part of making it, you know, and that me being… well, _me_ , means that I might never actually get a chance.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sebastian asks, and when Kurt tilts his head in anticipation he continues. “How old are you? Because correct me if I’m wrong but I doubt you’re even a day over 25, which means you still have more than two lifetimes left to accomplish that dream of yours. More, really, if we discount the time you spent in diapers and studying for useless chemistry tests. So why do you sound like you’ve giving up already?”

“I haven’t _given up_ ,” Kurt says unwillingly. Because it’s not true, not really. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Exactly,” Sebastian says pointedly. “You’re in California. Now, my geography may be off, but last I checked Broadway was in New York. So what the fuck are you even doing here?”

“I was just… finding it hard to hold on,” Kurt tries to explain. “I figured maybe if Broadway wouldn’t have me I could give Hollywood a try. I mean, it’s still acting, even if there’s no bursting out into song each time a character needs to undergo some kind of development.”

He shoots Sebastian a smile, hoping he will just take the joke and be done with it, but while Sebastian smiles back it’s clear he’s seeing straight through Kurt’s dismissal. Still, he takes a couple of seconds before he starts talking again.

“I was around eight when I first got on a surf board,” he says, looking out over the shop. “I knew right there and then that’s what I wanted to do with my life. My parents patted me on the head and said ‘Sure, kid.’ every time I told them I was gonna be a surfing champion, and they paid for my boards and my surf camps the same way they paid for my sister’s horse riding classes. And I worked hard. I really did. I grew up near Oceanside, Oregon - water temperature is like 50, 60 degrees there all year round so it takes some dedication to surf, especially in winter. But I practiced as much as I could, and when I was twelve I finally convinced my parents to let me compete.”

“And?” Kurt prompts when Sebastian doesn’t immediately continue, and Sebastian turns to look at him, a grave look on his face.

“I came in last.”

Kurt bursts out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” Sebastian says indignantly even as he’s grinning along, and Kurt can’t even reply to that because he’s still laughing too hard. “That was a traumatizing experience for me!”

“I can imagine,” Kurt hiccups, wiping at his eyes because he’s just imagined what would have happened if the first time he’d sung his heart out on stage he would have turned out to be just a mediocre singer. Or even worse - tone deaf. “Oh god, that must have been horrible.”

“It was,” Sebastian says. “And it took me a long time to realize that, even if I was the worst of those 20 kids, it didn’t mean I was _bad_ at surfing per se. It took an even longer time to realize that all that stuff about how hard work and perseverance will get you anywhere was bullshit. No matter how hard I practiced, I just didn’t have the talent to get anywhere near a medal. Realizing that… my whole world fell apart.”

“I know this is probably not what you want to hear,” Kurt says carefully. “But you’re a surf instructor, you’re managing a small surfing business - two, actually. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Sebastian smiles.

“That’s kind of my point,” he says. “Sometimes I still wish I was that champion I always dreamed I’d be. But I know I tried everything I could, and I know trying even harder, even longer… it would’ve destroyed me. Giving up on that dream was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but it also saved my life. I found new dreams and here I am, doing my thing. So what I’m trying to say is… sometimes dreams can’t be achieved. Because of who you are, because of how reality works, because the laws of physics refuse to budge. And it sucks. And sometimes new dreams can take some of the suck away, the way this shop did for me. But don’t give up unless you know with absolute certainty you did everything you possibly could to achieve your goal. Because so long as there’s a single nerve in your body that believes maybe you could have done it, you will forever regret it if you give up.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you want to give Hollywood a try, I'm not gonna stop you. But if Broadway is what you’re really dreaming of… don’t allow Hollywood, or anything else, to let you forget, okay?”

If the circumstances were any different, if Kurt hadn’t just moved across the country to chase his acting dream, Kurt might not have taken it seriously. He would have probably just laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation because let’s be real: a _surfer_ giving _him_ life advice? But he's seen first-hand just how passionate Sebastian is about surfing, how he's looking at Kurt with that earnest look in his eyes, and-

“Helloooooooo sweetie, I’m baaaack!”

The shrill voice echoes loudly through the shop, closely followed by what appears to be its very skinny, very high-heeled, and _very_ scantily dressed owner, and Kurt can’t help but stare at the woman who’s just interrupted one of the most meaningful moments he’s shared with someone since he broke up with his last boyfriend.

“Did ya miss me?” the woman asks with a broad smile as she deposits her bag on the counter and moves toward Sebastian to kiss him hello. “I see the shop hasn’t burned down, so I’d say that’s an improvement over last time. And hello to you, I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Mandy, I’m gonna assume you’re Kurt?” She holds out her hand, and when Kurt hesitantly takes it, she starts pumping his arm enthusiastically. “Thank you so much for helping out, I would’ve come, of course, but my ex was trying to get custody of our son and I really couldn’t let him do that.”

“Speaking of - how was he?” Sebastian asks, and Mandy turns towards him.

“Who, Eric? A jerk, as usual. Though he did a pretty good job hiding it from the judge. Fortunately getting out of jail for good behavior does not automatically make someone fit for parenting, and his request was denied. So there, catastrophe averted. How about here? Everything run smoothly in my absence? You’re not ready to kill Goof here yet?”

She’s directed the last sentence at Kurt, and it takes him a moment before he realizes she’s talking about Sebastian.

“Oh,” he stammers, “no, I-uh… I’m good, really, we-uh, we had fun.”

“You-“ Mandy starts and then stops, glancing between the two of them as she seems to come to some sort of realization. “He’s the guy from last night, isn’t he? You sneaked him through the back, none of us got a good look, but it’s him, right? Right?”

“Mandy, I- _ow_!” 

“You’re a moron, Goof!”

Kurt watches in astonishment at the scene that unfolds right in front of his eyes: Sebastian rubbing his head where Mandy had hit him, and Mandy… well, standing at just a little over five feet -heels included- she’s not exactly _towering_ over Sebastian, but what she lacks in height she certainly makes up for in glaring credits.

“Don’t you remember what happened with Marcus?” she tells him sternly. “This! Exactly this!”

“Who’s Marcus?” Kurt can’t help but wonder out loud, and Mandy shoots him a short look.

“My brother,” she says curtly. “Who used to work here until _a certain someone_ decided to fuck him.”

“In my defense,” Sebastian pipes up, “I never fired him. He’s the one who decided he doesn’t want to work here anymore, not the other way around.”

“Because you broke his heart, you dumbass.”

“ _No_ , because I refused to give him a raise based solely on the premise that he gives mediocre blow jobs,” Sebastian corrects her. “Besides, the situation is completely different now: I hired Marcus before I fucked him, while Kurt here I fucked _before_ hiring him. See?”

The smirk on Sebastian’s face spreads from ear to ear, and Mandy shakes her head, letting out a desperate sigh.

"It was a stupid thing to do either way," she says. "Haven't you learned _anything_ by now?"

"Then what did you want me to do, ha?" Sebastian asks angrily. "You were at court, Ginger was working, Dax is still on crutches, … You know perfectly well I can't handle  _and_ the bar _and_ the shop by myself on a Sunday afternoon. It was enough of a madhouse as it was - for fuck's sake, Kurt barely even knows the difference between a spring suit and a full body -no offense- but if it hadn't been for him I might have had to close completely."

Sebastian's eyes are blazing, but so are Mandy's, and Kurt's more than a little desperate to get out of this wasp nest he suddenly finds himself in.

"I swear I'm not here to make trouble," he tries. "Sebastian needed someone to take over, I didn't have anything planned for today so I offered to help. That's all there is to it, I promise."

"Oh sweetie," Mandy coos, and Kurt's not sure how she manages to make the endearment sound like an insult. "Trust me - when Goof's involved that is _never_ all there is to it."

“Oh god, just cut it out." Sebastian has placed himself squarely between Mandy and Kurt, using every inch he has on Mandy to stare her down. “Stop making this such a big deal, and stop acting like you're trying to protect him against me.”

Mandy raises an eyebrow, glancing between Kurt and Sebastian.

“To be honest, right now I'm not sure who needs protecting against who here,” she says. “But sure, whatever makes you happy. I'm guessing you guys wanna have your dinner break now?”

As a matter of fact, yes, Kurt would very much like to have dinner now, and not just because he kind of wants to get away from Mandy. Lunch had been a hurried affair in between serving customers, and while that’s nothing new to him, he really does prefer to sit down and have a quiet bite. Fortunately Sebastian seems to have the same idea, and after a final wave at Mandy Kurt hurries after him and into the kitchen, just in time to catch Sebastian leaning against the table, cursing under his breath.

“Stupid woman,” Kurt hears him say as he scrolls through his phone. “Fucking _idiot_.”

“You okay?”

“She _knows_ that thing with Markus wasn’t my fault,” Sebastian bursts out, raising his phone to his ear. “And just so you know - I didn’t fuck you just so I could have a cheap laborer- _yes, evening Garth, Goof here, can I have a pepperoni with extra cheese and a Hawaii? No, just extra company. Delicious. Will do. Give my best to Sophie. See you._ -obviously, I mean, I didn’t even know I would need someone extra today. Trust me - if I did I’d have asked for credentials _before_ I took you upstairs.”

“Okay.”

"And anyway, what _if_ that was the only reason we'd fucked? Ha? What the hell business is it of hers? Jesus fucking christ, if I-"

"Sebastian." Kurt has spoken softly, putting a hand on Sebastian's arm both to get his attention and calm him down. "It's fine. Really."

Sebastian looks up.

“Oh god,” he says, dragging his hands over his face. “Oh god I’m sorry. I start ranting when I feel pushed into a corner.”

 _I never even noticed_ , Kurt thinks with a smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Mandy - she's really good at what she does, but she drives me fucking crazy sometimes. And after the car wreck that was the situation with her brother she’s… well, you saw how she is.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt assures him, “my best friend… well, one of my best friends -I shared an apartment with her in New York but I’ve known her since high school- she’s the same way.”

Sebastian laughs.

“Good, then you know how to deal with them.”

“Let them rant and then hide away until it blows over?” Kurt asks, and Sebastian winks.

“Pretty much, yeah. Anyway, pizza’s on the way.” He stops. “You-uh, you do like Hawaiian pizza, right?”

.

Dinner is mostly quiet, though afterwards Sebastian does linger for a bit. They don’t continue their interrupted conversation from before, talking instead about everything from the previous week’s storm to the horrors of unpacking that still await Kurt when he’ll get home. It’s simple and easy and Kurt can’t help but feel a surge of annoyance when Mandy pops in to ask for some help since it’s getting busier at the bar.

“Nono, you stay,” Sebastian tells Kurt when he starts getting up too. “Your shift is done. Take a nap, watch some tv, me and Mandy got this.”

“But you started working same time as I did,” Kurt objects, confused, and Mandy huffs out a laugh.

“Don’t even try,” she says, “I’ve had that conversation with him before. Thinks that just because he owns the place means he’s gotta be here 24/7.”

“Man,” Sebastian warns her, and Kurt’s jaw drops as the pieces fall together in his head.

“You _own_ this place?” he asks, incredulous. “But you… you said you were the _manager_. You said your boss was a cool dude!”

“I… think I’m gonna leave you two alone,” Mandy says, shooting an apologetic glance at an embarrassed looking Sebastian before she disappears back to the bar.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sebastian shrugs, wordlessly picking up a couple of leftover crumbs from his pizza, but when Kurt keeps staring at him he finally concedes.

“You heard what happened with Marcus,” he says. “And trust me, that wasn’t the first time someone thought having sex with me would get them a discount or a job. Or the last.”

“I wasn’t looking for a job,” Kurt says, suddenly worried that Sebastian would think _that_. “And I don’t surf.”

“Yet,” Sebastian replies cheekily, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “Anyway, forget about it, it's not important. You want me to show you how the tv set works?”

“Actually…" Kurt hesitates. "Would it be okay if I just sat at the bar?”

The question seems to take Sebastian by surprise, and to be honest Kurt’s not sure where the idea comes from either, but he really doesn’t feel like watching tv by himself all night. Or maybe he just wants to be around Sebastian a little longer.

“Sure,” Sebastian finally says, still a little taken aback, “yeah, of course you can. Gotta warn you, though, it’s a surf bar and it’s Sunday night, most of my crew is gonna be here and they tend to talk about three S’s only: surfing, swell, and sticks.”

“Sounds like fun.”

.

Surprisingly enough, it _is_ fun. Sebastian’s friends are loud and obnoxious, and they spend most of the evening complaining about how flat the surf was that day and blaming Sebastian for it (“I’m sorry guys but I don’t actually control the waves, I just download the weather report!”). But they’re also genuinely friendly and funny, and once they figure out Kurt’s a new friend of Sebastian, they almost fall over each other in their attempts to find the most embarrassing story about him they can find.

“Remember that time he set off the fire alarm by boiling water?” Ginger starts. He's a tiny, sinewy guy with skin as black as his hair and he's barely even finished his sentence when Dax -a lanky, freckled, _actual_ ginger- whacks him over the head.

“Brah, seriously?” he says, and then turns towards Kurt, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he starts regaling his own story. “So one time at summer camp, right, Goof here falls off his board. Now this was way back, when every cool kid would wear their shorts like two sizes too big. And apparently he’d forgotten to tighten the cords, so of course he lost his shorts in the waves. Which would’ve been funny enough, but then he started shouting to get our attention so we could give him another pair - obviously we pretended not to hear him, but he kept screaming and waving and making a fuss until -get this- some lifeguard jumped in to save him. Guy thought he was drowning!”

There’s a roar of laughter, and Kurt can’t help himself, laughing along even as he casts a careful glance at Sebastian. He seems to take the jab to his dignity in stride, though, smiling as he sets down another beer in front of his friend.

“Yeah, I don’t remember ever thanking you for taking _a whole hour_ to get me a new pair of shorts,” he says dryly. “Though I _do_ remember a couple of days later someone used sunscreen to spell out _FUCK ME_ on your back while you were sleeping on the beach. Now _that_ was funny.”

“Brah, I still hate you for that!” Ginger exclaims indignantly, while around him everybody once again bursts out laughing. “The jerk added an arrow pointing at my ass too, it took _years_ before I managed to convince girls I wasn’t actually gay.”

They continue bantering like that for the rest of the evening, trying to one-up each other’s -usually surf-related- stories. It never gets mean though, and Kurt hangs back a little as he watches Sebastian interact with his friends, always ready to joke along but never losing sight of the other customers in the bar. After the sexy flirt Kurt had gotten to know the night before, and the knowledgeable surf shop owner he’d seen that afternoon, it’s yet a whole different side of Sebastian that he’s getting a glimpse of, and it fascinates him.

Around eleven though, when he’s been trying and failing to hide his yawns for the better half of the past hour, he finally admits defeat.

“Well, guys, it was fun, but I’m gonna go to bed,” he says. His announcement is met with loud protests, and it’s not until Sebastian gets involved that they calm down a little.

“Brah, let the guy go, if you want to tell him more stories I’m sure he’ll be happy to add you on Facebook. Kurt, if you want to take a shower there’s fresh towels in the cupboard next to the sink. Are you a heavy sleeper?”

“I guess?”

“Good, then I won’t wake you up when I come up later. You can sleep in tomorrow, it’s closing day and I don’t have to be in the city until around lunch, so just get up whenever.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward moment when Sebastian looks like he might… well, what exactly Kurt might never know, because he changes his mind mid-movement and ends up just patting Kurt on the shoulder.

“Night, Kurt.”

“Night, Sebastian."

 


	5. Chapter 4

“Kurt?” 

There’s something familiar about the voice that reaches Kurt through the mist of sleep, like a distant memory that itches at the edge of his brain.

“Kurt, could you just...”

The voice doesn’t finish the sentence - instead a pair of hands starts pulling at Kurt’s shoulders, and Kurt jerks them back in an attempt to shake the hands off.

“Lemme sleep,” he mumbles, annoyed, because his pillow is being pulled away from him too now, and he snuggles deeper into it, chasing the soothing scent of vanilla. There's something else there as well, something salty, but it's too early and Kurt can't be bothered to figure it out. “Lea’me ‘lone.”

“Would if I could,” the voice says, and its chuckle rumbles softly in Kurt’s ear, “but you kinda need to let go of me for that first.”

“I’m not-” _holding on to you_ , Kurt wants to say, but he’s not even halfway through the sentence when he realizes with a shock why that chuckle had sounded so close to his ear. 

He’s not holding a pillow.

He’s holding _a body_.

He opens his eyes.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sebastian smirks down at him. “It’s been an honor to be your pillow for the night, but it would be really nice if I could, you know, get up now?”

Kurt pulls back as quickly as if he’d been burned, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He just woke up cuddling with Sebastian - and when had his subconscience decided that was a good idea?

“Oh god,” he starts, scrambling up, “oh god, I’m so sorry.”

He wishes he could disappear, sink through the bed or maybe jump through a time portal to a different dimension, because he’s just woken up snuggling with the guy who he’d not only had a one-night-stand the night before, but who was also kind of his boss.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Sebastian tells him, sounding much too amused by the whole situation. “It’s fine, you can go back to sleep, it’s just that I wanted to go out and catch some waves before we leave.” 

And it’s only now that Kurt notices it’s still fairly dark outside.

“What time is it?”

“Five,” Sebastian replies, way too chipper for that time of day. “Well, five ten, what with you refusing to wake up. You really weren’t lying when you said you were a heavy sleeper, were you?”

It’s enough to bring back the flush of red to Kurt’s cheeks, and he bends his head. He knows he can’t hide the blush, but he really can’t bring himself to look into Sebastian’s eyes right now.

What had he been  _thinking?_

“Okay then,” Sebastian says, right as the silence is about to turn uncomfortable. “I’m gonna go out, I’ll catch you when I get back. You’ll be okay here?”

Kurt nods wordlessly, and Sebastian easily jumps out of bed.

“See you later, princess. Sleep tight.”

It's not until after Sebastian has shut the door behind him that Kurt realizes Sebastian hadn't been wearing pajamas.

Or, well, anything at all.

.

Much to his own frustration, Kurt doesn’t quite go back to sleep as Sebastian had told him to, though it’s not for a lack of trying.

But what on Earth had made him think that sharing a bed with Sebastian again would be a good idea?Apparently even asleep he can't shake him off. Literally. He should have insisted to sleeping on the couch or something, should have asked Mercedes to pick him up after his shift - what kind of idiot had a one-night-stand and then agreed to spend the night with that person  _in the same bed_?

And then there was the way Sebastian had been smirking at him. He probably thought Kurt was one of those awful clingy guys, the kind who wanted romance and roses and breakfast in bed. And, well, he wouldn't be _wrong_ , per se, but it wasn't hard to imagine how someone like Sebastian, who hadn't seemed the least bit phased by sleeping naked with a former one-night-stand, would think of things like that. Ridiculous. Silly. _Pathetic_.

Kurt would rather not have Sebastian think of him as  _pathetic._

He can hear Sebastian fumbling downstairs, rummaging around in the kitchen, and it’s only after he’s heard the door fall shut and the silence has returned, that he dares to get up. The shower still has its fancy engraved door and the towels are blue and fluffy as ever, but still somehow this morning shower isn’t nearly as relaxing as yesterday’s was.

It’s just a couple more hours, he reminds himself. In just a couple of hours Sebastian is going to drop me off at Mercedes’, and I can bury the shame and embarrassment of what has happened in the depths of my memory. It's just a couple more hours and then I never have to see Sebastian again.

The thought isn't nearly as cheerful as he thought it might be.

He doesn’t stay in the shower long, and even though he knows Sebastian is still out, there’s lead in his shoes as he makes his way downstairs. The whole house is silent, and no matter how hard Kurt tries to be quiet, it feels like every sound he makes is amplified tenfold. But it’s not until he gets to the kitchen that the real nightmare starts. Because he can hardly rummage through Sebastian’s fridge to make himself breakfast, can he? Granted, yesterday Sebastian had told him he could make bacon and eggs if he wanted to, but that was yesterday. Did that sort of permissions have an expiry date or were they valid until further notice? And if he _does_ decide to make breakfast, does he make it just for himself, or for Sebastian as well? The first one seems selfish, but the second one could be interpreted as too domestic, and after what had just happened waking up…

He should have just stayed in bed, he decides after he’s been standing in the middle of the kitchen for almost ten minutes without moving. It’s a little too late for that, though, and so he goes for the next best thing, and makes himself comfortable on the couch in front of the tv.

He’s about halfway through a documentary on Venezuelan poodle moths -it was either that or Monster Trucks- when he can hear a door slam shut, and a few too-short minutes later Sebastian walks in, dressed in his token board shorts, hair dripping wet and peaking in every which direction, poking a towel-clad finger into his ear. 

“Hey… you’re up,” he says, stopping short when he catches sight of Kurt. “Thought I told you to sleep in. Had breakfast yet?”

“I figured I’d wait for you,” Kurt says, and then realizes how that might sound. “Didn’t want to rummage through your stuff while you weren’t there.”

“Right…” Sebastian drawls, shooting Kurt a doubtful look. “Come on then, I’m starving. I was thinking pancakes - sound good to you?”

It doesn't take long for Kurt to find out that Sebastian’s definition of 'making pancakes' differs substantially from his own, and more than once he has to resist the urge to take over and show Sebastian how it’s done. He stays in his seat though, not wanting to take the domesticity of their having breakfast together any further, and when Sebastian finally presents him with his plate he has to admit that while Sebastian’s methods were hardly professional, the result is definitely acceptable.

They eat in silence for a while, meaning that Sebastian shovels pancake after pancake into his mouth while Kurt tries his very best to keep his attention focused on the plate in front of him, shoving his own cut up pancake back and forth on his plate without actually eating any of it. 

“Will you stop fretting already?” Sebastian asks, and Kurt startles.

“What?”

“That you should stop fretting,” Sebastian repeats around another bite of pancake, casting a glance at Kurt. “About whatever it is you’re fretting about. Although I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say it’s because you and your subconscience are having some internal argument about this morning.”

Kurt’s cheeks immediately flush red in response, which unfortunately means denial is out of the question.

“Look,” he starts, “I’m s-”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts him, and when he catches Kurt staring at him he bursts out laughing. “Seriously, I’ve had my dick so far up your ass neither of us could see straight anymore, you really think I’d be upset ‘cause your head was on my chest when I woke up? Besides, you pretty much saved my life yesterday, you wanna use me as a human pillow I’ll go and rub on some moisturizer to make sure it’s soft enough for you.”

He says it with such conviction Kurt can’t stop the corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, and when Sebastian catches sight of it, he reaches out for Kurt’s hand and squeezes it.

“Hey, we’re friends, right?” he asks, smiling, eyes fixed firmly on Kurt’s, and Kurt pauses. He’s never really thought of them in those terms, still thinks of Sebastian as the guy he slept with, the guy who gave him his first Californian paycheck yesterday. But he remembers their talk in the shop, and hanging out at the bar with Sebastian’s friends, and he forces a smile.

“We are." 

“Good,” Sebastian says as he pulls back and picks up his fork. “Cause you look really cute when you’re fretting and all but I’m really not good at this whole sitting-in-silence thing.”

Kurt nearly chokes on his pancake but fortunately Sebastian doesn’t notice, already halfway through a story about how he used to lose every game of hide-and-seek he ever played because he could never shut up long enough to keep from being found. And not for the first time Kurt wonders how Sebastian does it, how he goes from being so seriously close and intimate to being a happy-go-lucky surfer in 0.2 seconds flat.

Because he’s used to it, Kurt reminds himself, because he probably does this all the time. And so he forces himself to listens to Sebastian’s stories, and then just listens, swept up in the big gestures and bad puns, laughing and nodding in all the right places, until it’s finally time for them to leave. 

“You ready?” Sebastian asks, taking a hold of Kurt’s empty cup, and Kurt nods. “Good, then I’m going to throw on some fancy clothes and we can go.”

“Sure.”

They both get up, and Kurt starts cleaning up the table and filling the dishwasher while Sebastian disappears upstairs. He comes down not ten minutes later, dressed in a loose-fitting jeans and a white, short-sleeved button-up, smelling like toothpaste and expensive after-shave. He looks positively dashing and utterly uncomfortable.

“Don’t,” he warns Kurt when he starts to open his mouth, and there's something in his voice that makes that Kurt obediently shuts his mouth, hands raised in surrender as he follows Sebastian out. Could it be that he finally found Sebastian's weak spot?

Sebastian's surprisingly low-key Toyota is parked a little ways down the road, and Kurt suppresses a yawn as he puts his hand on the door handle, waiting patiently for Sebastian to unlock it.

“Don’t tell me you're still tired,” Sebastian says when he notices, obviously amused. “I mean, I know I interrupted your beauty sleep this morning but…”

“Shut up.” Kurt glares at him, or at least he tries to, wrapping his arms around himself as he gets in the car. “I thought you said we were fine.”

“We are,” Sebastian concedes. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t tease you about it, though.”

“I hate you,” Kurt tells him as he stifles another yawn and reaches for his seatbelt. “I just need a lot of sleep, is all.” He casts Sebastian a sideways glance. “Unlike you, apparently. When did you even come to bed last night?”

“Two,” Sebastian says, looking back over his shoulder as they pull out of the parking space. “Quarter past. Something like that. I usually start closing up at around 1.30, but Sunday nights it often gets a little later.”

“And you got up at…” 

“Five,” Sebastian supplies, and then smirks. “Well, five fifteen…” 

“Oh great,” Kurt says sarcastically. “Stood first in line when god handed out looks _and_ only needs three hours of sleep a night. See, this is why I’m an atheist.”

“Ah, don’t be jealous,” Sebastian coos, patting Kurt on the knee. “Sure I got the golden tan and the well-defined muscle, but you got the pearly white skin and the freaky flexibility. Not a bad hand, I’d say.”

“Don’t forget my ability to pull off full-length pants and shirts with buttons without looking like someone shoved a stick up my ass.” Sebastian groans and Kurt chuckles. "Seriously, though, you're a rich white kid, I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here but didn't you grow up in a blazer?"

"Oh yeah," Sebastian sighs. "Formal dinner parties, private school uniforms, ... the whole shebang. The day I graduated me and my classmates made a huge bonfire behind the swimming pool and burned them all. Mom nearly got a heart attack cause she thought the pool house was on fire."

He chuckles at the memory, and Kurt looks at him curiously.

“It must be a pretty incredible person you're meeting then, if they got you to leave your shorts at home.”

Sebastian groans.

"Oh god don't call her that - she’s got a big enough ego as it is.”

“She?”

“Veronica,” Sebastian clarifies. “My sister. She flew in yesterday for a meeting or something, so like the good little brother I am I’m taking her out to lunch.”

“Hm. That doesn’t sound like you’re looking forward much.”

Sebastian shrugs.

“It’s not her - I like her. In lunchtime-sized portions. I don’t like the stuck-up places she always insists we go to.”

“The ones where they don’t allow people with board shorts?”

“The very same.” Sebastian shoots Kurt a sideways grin.

“Does she surf too?” 

“Oh god no.” Sebastian laughs. “My parents got her a foamie when she was twelve or so, I think she even had a few classes, but she never made it past the whitewater. Which is probably a blessing in disguise for the whole surfer community cause she’s pretty ruthless. Used to work with a law firm in New York, but she quit last summer when her boyfriend got a job in DC. Works there as a lobbyist now.”

“Oh wow,” Kurt says, honestly surprised. “She sounds very different from you, to be honest. Your parents must be proud, though.”

Sebastian bursts out laughing.

“Oh yeah definitely,” he says, grinning widely. “Veronica dearest upholding the family honor all by herselfon a pair of killer stiletto heels while silly little Sebastian wastes his time and good education lazing around in the Californian sun.”

There’s not a shred of bitterness to his words, but Kurt still frowns as he glances over at him. 

“But you got your own business,” he says, confused. “Or like, businesses. Surely your parents must know how hard you work?”

“Look,” Sebastian starts, shooting Kurt a smile before returning his attention to the road in front of him. “My dad’s a state attorney. My mom’s a federal judge. Me and my sister, we were practically destined for a career in law. Veronica went to law school, I got an MBA, ergo ipso facto, I am only second best.”

Kurt does a double take.

“You got an MBA?”

“Course I got an MBA," Sebastian says, shooting Kurt an indignant look. "You think I’m running three businesses on good hunches and lucky guesses?"

"Well… _no_ ," Kurt says, still a little overwhelmed, looking at Sebastian as if he's never seen him before, trying to imagine him in college. "I just… I guess I just hadn't pegged you as the studying type."

"It wasn't exactly the best time of my life, I'll admit that much," Sebastian tells him with a smile. "And I’m pretty sure my parents had hoped I’d do something different with it than what I’m doing now. But I made my final project a feasibility study on the opening a surf shop, business plan and all, and not to brag but it was solid. Fortunately for me, my parents thought so too. They offered to invest, and here we are.”

“So… Bord'eaux is like your business fair project gone rogue?”

Sebastian laughs.

“Something like that,” he admits. “It was supposed to be just the shop to start with - I didn’t plan on surfing classes until a bit further down the road, but people kept asking about them, so that happened, which meant I had to find someone to take care of the shop while I was doing the classes. That’s when I found Mandy, who was basically my in with the locals, and I got to know more people. But then those people started hanging around the shop during the day, and then they started hanging around the shop after closing hours, and then I figured I could just as well make it official and sacrificed half of the shop to open the bar.”

“Ah yes, _there_ is that opportunity-seizing, profit-maximizing, capitalist MBA graduate," Kurt teases. "Either way I think your parents should be proud of what you've accomplished, law degree or not."

"Oh don't worry, they are." Sebastian shoots him an appreciative smile. "It's a running joke in our family that Veronica is more accomplished than I am but that's it: just a joke. As I said, my parents were the main investors when I started. And I mean, they're lawyers - they wouldn’t throw away their money on a project they didn't believe in. Doesn’t mean they don’t feel like I could’ve made more of my life if I’d wanted to.”

"But here you are," Kurt says, feeling a pang of jealousy. "Defying your parents' expectations and living your own dream."

Sebastian chokes out a laugh.

"Yeah, well…"

"What? I thought you said you loved what you are doing now."

"I do," Sebastian concedes. "I love teaching and I love having my friends over nearly every night and I love helping people find just the right board for them. I just… I don't know, it's stupid."

"It can't be stupid if it bugs you that much."

Kurt turns his head to look at Sebastian, but he's keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

"Stop staring at me," he finally says, glancing at Kurt. "I'm not telling you."

"Why not?"

"Cause you'd think I'm crazy."

"I just quit my job to move from New York to LA on a whim," Kurt tells him. "And it's not the first time I've upped and left like that either. Don't insult me by assuming I can't handle crazy. Come on, try me."

Sebastian sighs, once again glancing at Kurt, clearly contemplating whether or not to tell.

"I…" He takes a deep breath. "I've just always wanted to get a surfing degree."

“A surfing degree,” Kurt repeats, not sure if he heard it right. “Aren't you a certified surf instructor already?”

"I am." Sebastian smiles uneasily. "I'm talking about a college degree."

"A college degree."

"Yes."

"In surfing."

"Yes." Sebastian glances at Kurt. "Plymouth University has a really good program. There’s a couple of places in Australia that offer them as well, which is where I wanted to go.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“My parents wouldn’t pay for it,” Sebastian says simply. “I couldn’t get a scholarship, so after a lot of begging my parents to let me go and being told ‘no’ over and over again, we finally agreed I would go to UCLA to get an MBA, and then we’d talk again.”

"But you didn't."

"Things just happened really fast after graduation. I got a prize for my thesis, which got my mom to actually read it, which got her and my dad to offer to invest. And then Bord'eaux went up for sale -it was called differently then, of course- but the location, the size, … it was too perfect an opportunity to pass on. And then I just got so busy with the whole starting up a business thing that everything else just kind of… disappeared."

"So why not do it now?" Kurt asks. "Lots of people combine working and studying. Obviously it'll take longer but seeing as you're doing it out of interest-"

"Kurt, I'm at the bar _literally_ 24/7. I've got one day off and even then more often than not I'm taking inventory, waxing boards, repairing dings, … And did you miss the part where the only universities offering surfing degrees are basically all _in Australia_? What do you want me to do, close the bar and leave? I've built up a brand here, a clientele, … I can't risk all that just because I regret not getting a piece of paper."

"You know it's more than that."

"It's really not," Sebastian laughs, but there's no joy to it. "And it's stupid anyway. I mean, let's be real - I don’t need to know the physics behind wave formation to know when the surf’s gonna be good. So really, it doesn't matter. I’m doing a lot of different things and as you said I love all of them, why would I throw that away?"

It's kind of hard to argue with logic that solid, but still it feels wrong somehow. If Sebastian really wanted to get that the degree surely there had to be a way, right?

"No, there isn't," Sebastian interrupts Kurt's line of thought. "Look - as I said it's stupid, it's not important, and it's something we're gonna stop discussing now. Come on, tell me about your plans for the day - any big auditions lined up?”

Kurt scowls at him.

"Don't change the subject."

"Don't make me talk about things I don't want to talk about," Sebastian shoots back. "So, auditions?"

“I arrived in LA literally three days ago,” Kurt tells him, still a little unwillingly. “I haven’t even found an agent yet.”

“So is that the plan?” Sebastian asks. “Getting an agent?”

“First unpack,” Kurt says. “Get settled in a little. Find a real job, and with 'real' I mean one with a real paycheck at the end of the month. But then… yeah. My New York agent gave me a couple names, so there’s that, and then I need to figure out if I’m eligible for SAG membership and… well, let's just say I won’t be bored over the next couple of days.”

“You know I-uh… I could maybe help,” Sebastian says carefully, glancing at Kurt. "With the whole auditioning thing? I mean, I’m not making any promises or anything, but I have an uncle who works at a small production company at-"

"Your uncle works in _Hollywood_?"

"As a lawyer," Sebastian is quick to add. "He's a company lawyer – lawyer family, remember? Which is why I'm not making any promises - I don't know how much pull he has with the casting department or whoever is in charge of hiring actors, I don't know how that whole thing works. But if you have like a resume or headshot or whatever, I could pass it along. You know, get it out there."

"You would do that?" Sebastian barely even _knows_ him, and yet here he is, casually offering Kurt to pass his headshot to his uncle. "You've never even seen me on a stage. I could be the worst actor in the world." 

Sebastian shoots him a sideways glance.

"You graduated first from that NADYA school, right?"

"NYADA," Kurt corrects him. "But yes..."

"Well then," Sebastian shrugs. "You're good enough for them, you're good enough for me. Now stop looking at me like that, I'm pretty sure your face is gonna cramp up if you don't lose the smile." 

But Kurt can't help it. Sebastian's gonna pass his headshot on to his uncle. Who might pass it on to some famous casting director. Who might get Kurt his big break in Hollywood. Which might get Broadway to finally notice him. Which might make his dream come true.

Sebastian just maybe might make his dream come true.

How he manages not to kick his feet and scream, Kurt will never know, but the happy grin doesn't leave his face for the rest of the trip, and every time he looks at Sebastian and sees him shake his head and smile back, his grin grows a little wider still.

Forgotten are his New York audition woes. Forgotten are all the frustrations and tears and doubts.

He's in LA. He's taking a new start.

And so far things are going great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Friday chapter! So, as I warned you I was traveling and wasn't sure if I'd be able to post the past couple of weeks - as it turned out internet was not a problem, but my laptop was, as it crashed and burned. Or well, crashed. There was no actual burning involved. By some divine intervention my friend was able to save my documents though, and so I am finally able to continue posting the story! Figured I'd give you an extra chapter today for compensation, and starting next week the usual Tuesday postings shall be reinstated :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for your love, be it in comments, subscriptions, or kudos, hope you enjoyed this chapter and feel free to come bug me on Tumblr (worldoflis). I am currently preparing for two job interviews so I'm trying to stay away from there for a little, so my apologies in advance for the lack of excitement :). Take care everyone and enjoy your weekends!


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